


Baby Steps

by Ronja



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 132,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted stories of Katniss' and Peeta's life after the war, framed by Katniss' first pregnancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Katniss

**Author's Note:**

> I found this on my hard-drive the other day. It's the first thing I worked on for "the Hunger Games", which shows since I don't feel I have quite found the characters yet and overall it's much fluffier than the stuff I normally write. I wasn't planning on posting it but when I read through it I realized it wasn't as bad as I thought it was so why not share it? Some themes, elements and even situations I have reused in other stuff since (and I totally stole the title from a "Gossip Girl" fic idea I once had) but for the most part it's its own story.
> 
> This first chapter is just set-up.

I wake up in the middle of the night, panting, sweating, heart racing in my chest. It’s another night plagued by nightmares but not the usual ones that cause me to wake up with a scream or a start, always waking him who sleeps next to me. Every so often I have nightmares of a different kind and these ones always leave me paralysed and unable to utter a sound. They are not about horrors trying to end my life or cause me physical pain. They are about feelings of guilt and of debts I can never repay. They are always about him. Peeta.

I take a few deep breaths to try and calm myself and look over at him as he snores lightly next to me. His sleep looks calm and undisrupted. My hand reaches out and gently moves a curl of his blond hair away from his brow. Images from my dream haunt me as I watch him sleep. Images that are more than just terrors that my mind cook up; they are memories. Memories of seeing him on the Capitol’s broadcasts when I was in District 13. Memories of kisses in a cave and tender moments he thought were real and I thought were fake. Memories of me aiming my bow at him by the lake, ready to kill him without a moment’s hesitation.

Memories that make my throat close up and my chest tighten in a mix of panic, guilt and fear. Of how I treated Peeta, from the moment his name was drawn at the reaping till the moment I let him know that I love him too. The memories make me feel ashamed of myself. He loved me all that time and right from the start he was willing to sacrifice his own life to save mine. In return I used him to survive our first Hunger Games, toyed with his emotions while I was torn between my feelings for Gale and feelings for Peeta which I couldn’t decipher and I turned my back on him when he needed me in Thirteen even though I at that point knew I had feelings for him too. We were so fundamentally different in that aspect. His way of coping with the dire situations we had too often found ourselves in was to make the most of what time he had left and enjoy the company of those he loved as much as he could. Mine was to keep everyone at arm’s length because the less you care about somebody the less it hurts to lose them. Deep down I knew I had strong feelings for Peeta when we went back into the arena but I refused to acknowledge it even to myself because I was too afraid to admit it in case I lost him. I think a part of me was afraid that if I did admit those feelings to myself I would jinx him and he would die.

I tell Peeta about a lot but I never tell him about these dreams and how they fill me with such grief and shame that I can hardly stand it. I don’t tell him because I know he would never understand and he would try to explain to me why my feelings are wrong. It doesn’t seem to bother him that I ignored him or turned my back on him a few times too many when times got rough. To him all that seems to matter is that I did fall in love with him in the end. What he doesn’t see is that one of the major sources behind my anxiety is that I loved him long before the end yet still turned from him when the Capitol had hijacked him.

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. My eyes find familiar sights in the bedroom and I’m comforted by their presence. The clock on the nightstand. The portrait Peeta painted of me for my twentieth birthday. The vase on the dresser which sometimes holds a primrose. The room is very familiar to me, every corner of it. I’ve been sleeping here for almost twelve years. When we first became a couple Peeta and I spent all our nights in my house but I eventually decided we should move to his instead. I’d rather start anew and not dwell in the rooms where too many memories haunt me. In my house I will never stop expecting to see my sister come down the stairs or stop imagining that I can hear her and our mother talking. The only thing I would miss from that house was the primrose bushes Peeta had planted for me and those could me moved to his house instead.

It took a while to convince him that I was serious. Really, though, it makes a lot more sense for us to live in this house. His kitchen was the one redesigned to fit a working baker and not just for a family to cook their meals in. Even while he slept in my house and in my bed he spent a lot of his daytime baking in his old house. His house carried no dark memories, at least not for me and if they did for him he didn’t express them. My house on the other hand felt full of pain and suffering. Peeta objected to that and pointed out that we had shared a lot of wonderful times there together but in the end I never felt they could outweigh the ghosts that haunt me there. I wanted us to start fresh and build a happier future for ourselves and I felt that would be much more appropriate in Peeta’s house. So he agreed and when we officially started to live together our address was that of his house, not mine.

Peeta grunts in his sleep and rolls over on his back. I curl up close to him, resting my head on his chest and draping an arm around him, staring out into space as I listen to the steady beating of his heart. I think again of our first Hunger Games and how I ran from the mutts with no goal other than reaching the Cornucopia, not even thinking about my injured companion until he cried out to me. I think again of how my immediate reaction to the rule change being revoked was to prepare to put an arrow through him. It’s not just guilt that plagues me when I think back at those moments. It’s a much more selfish feeling than that. It’s the thought of what would have happened and where I would be if I alone had survived the 74th Hunger Games. If I had never come to love Peeta and experience everything that comes with that. Frankly I don’t think I would have even survived to the end of the war if Peeta hadn’t made it out. He saved my life plenty of times, both physically and emotionally.

It’s a debt I can never repay. It’s true that I saved him as well but in my eyes that is easily cancelled out by all the pain and horrors he was put through thanks to me. The torture at the hands of President Snow, for instance. Adding to my debt is every moment where he thought only of me and I did the same – thought of Katniss. I hate being in debt to anyone and Peeta is no exception to that rule just because he is my life companion.

It’s during nights like these that the thought creeps to me and it is during this night that I make my decision once and for all. I know of only one thing I could do, one thing I could give Peeta that would begin to erase my debt to him. I can give him the child he has wanted so badly for so long. The thought has run through my mind almost every night that I’ve woken up with these kind of nightmares but I’ve never been brave enough to conquer my fears and take the leap for him. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to have children; I just haven’t been able to get past the fears that have been with me since my own childhood and the horrors that could befall a child back then. The horrors that befell my sister, me, Peeta.

Tonight I reach the point where my fear is less strong than my desire to give to him the one thing he longs for but can’t have. The one thing that would bring him enough happiness to make up for at least some of the happiness he gave to me before I could give anything back to him in return.

 

 

I decide not to say anything to him. After spending nearly fifteen years fearing the idea of pregnancy while often and eagerly engaging in the activity designed for just that purpose I suddenly find myself worried that I might not even be able to get pregnant. I’ve been on birth control pills for almost a decade and a half and who knows how long that stays in the body? Or if I ever was fertile to begin with? I don’t want to tell Peeta that I changed my mind about having children only to then not be able to give him one. It’s better he doesn’t know and that it becomes a surprise.

Keeping something that significant a secret from him doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as one might think. In fact I find myself even more aroused and invested in our bedroom activities than before, an achievement in and of itself, just thinking about how I might soon have something to tell him that’s going to make him euphoric.

It doesn’t happen at once. In fact it takes almost seven months from the night I decided to stop taking my pills. It’s true that those months did include a two month period where Peeta took part in building a library and spend the better parts of his days moving timber and carrying bags of bricks, coming home so physically exhausted that we were only intimate on a few nights. Still I had begun to grow concerned until the morning I wake up with such an overwhelming nausea that I wonder if I will make it to the bathroom in time. Luckily Peeta has already been up for about half an hour to finish a large shipment of cookies that were meant to be sent to former District 9 with the 10 o’clock train. There are things I could hide from him but miserably clutching the toilet as I empty what little is in my stomach is not on the list.

A week and a half later when I have gotten the most telling sign that I’m expecting a child the previous worries about being barren wash away only to be immediately replaced by the return of terrors of old. I do not want to have children. I could not bear the thought of raising them and loving them only to have them taken from me or subjected to horrors that would plague them for the rest of their lives the way Peeta’s and mine plagued ours. This was a mistake. The Hunger Games may be over for good and peace may be upon Panem but that makes little different in my mind. I have lived for too long with the fear of having to watch those I love subjected to torment and death. There is a reason I firmly decided never to have children.

Then I think of Peeta and try to calm myself as I grab a hold of the bathroom counter, holding on so tight it makes my fingers whiten. Peeta is not afraid. Peeta believes it can be okay. This is what he wants. He would make such a fantastic parent. People like him should get to carry their DNA over to a new generation. Anything else would be a waste of good genes. Centuries from now there should be people who can proudly say they are direct descendants of Peeta Mellark. I can do this. I can do this for Peeta and for myself. Looking at myself in the mirror I take a trembling breath and release my grip on the counter. I can be a mother.

I manage to calm myself enough just in time for Peeta to walk in and kiss me on the cheek. My eyes are still fixated on myself in the mirror but in the corner of my eye I can see him unbuttoning his shirt to take a shower. It is evening and he has been working in the hot bakery all day long. I don’t mind him coming to bed sweaty, in fact I often _make_ him sweaty between those sheets, but I can’t seem to encourage him to not take these showers every afternoon. He feels better after them and I know I shouldn’t object. It’s just that I like it when he smells and tastes of baking and the showers tend to wash all that off him.

“You didn’t happen to see if there were any strawberries when you were in the woods today?” asks Peeta, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“No” I reply, leaning forward to splash my face with water. “No strawberries. Not yet.”

“Pity” he replies, sitting down on the side of the tub to remove the prosthetic on his left leg. “Today I had such a craving for making the first strawberry cake of the year.”

Hearing him talk about cravings unsettles me a little. I fill my mouth with cold water and let it splash around in my mouth for a moment, hoping it will calm some of the queasiness I feel almost around the clock now. Though I take my bow and quiver and head out to the woods every day I do almost no hunting. The woods are my refuge, where I go to hide my upset stomach from the man who doesn’t yet know the reason why I’m feeling so sick. I had decided to wait until I was sure to tell him of my condition. Now that I’m almost positive I should tell him. I turn around to face him, grabbing a fresh hold of the cool counter behind me. He has finally gotten his prosthetic off and puts it to the side, looking up at me with a smile.

“You know what I wish we could find?” he asks.

“What?”

“Wild raspberries.” He folds his pants neatly before standing up on his one leg. “When my father could get his hands on them, which was not often, he would make a custard out of them and use it in both cakes and cookies. Raspberry was my favourite but it’s very rare in these parts.”

I say nothing as he not-so-gracefully makes his way from the tub to the shower. It makes me nervous that he showers without the prosthetic because I worry he might need it for balance. More than fifteen years with only one natural foot have made him quite used to it though and he seems to have no trouble at all keeping balanced as he pulls the shower curtain between us to keep water from splashing everywhere. I lamely open my mouth to speak but then I hear him whistle as the shower comes on and I realize the moment is gone. And really, what had I had in mind? Telling him his biggest remaining dream was about to come true while we’re in the bathroom? That’s depressingly unromantic even for me.

I walk over and pick up his discarded clothes, neatly folded but in dire need of washing. I prefer any motion that allows me to lean forward. It seems to help the nausea a little bit. I take his clothes and put them in the hamper, walking out to the bedroom to get him new underwear and a pair of pyjama pants. He only sleeps with the top half of a pyjamas even during the coldest nights of winter. I prefer having direct skin to skin contact with his chest and his arms as I drift off in the night.

Once I have everything set up for him in the bathroom I go back to the bedroom and lay down on our bed, curling up in a foetal position. I hope he’ll stay in the shower for a long time. Hiding my nausea from him gets exceedingly difficult each day and from the looks of it this baby has no intention of letting me off the hook with the sick stomach anytime soon.

When he does come out and come to bed I should tell him. I could curl up in his embrace and give him the news he’s been wanting to hear for so many years. But when the moment actually comes fifteen minutes later and he’s with me on the bed I can’t bring myself to say anything. I realize I’m still worried about my ability to carry a baby for nine full months. It’s a strange feeling to have that fear at the same time as I fear motherhood. I know enough from my mother to know that the first three months are the most risky and that the majority of miscarriages happen during that timeframe. I should wait. I should try and keep this a secret from Peeta until I reach the point where I can feel somewhat safe that the baby will at least survive its initial nine months inside of me.

The decision made I turn away from Peeta and pull my legs up toward my chest, wondering if I’ll be able to hide the nausea from him for three more days, let alone three months. I feel him shift beside me and align his body to mine, his arm wrapping around me and his face nuzzling by my neck. I should probably start thinking about a plan B. There must be something I can tell Peeta that would explain my nausea without making him think that I’m pregnant. Something that wouldn’t make him worry too much about me.

He moves his left thigh, letting it rest on mine. The feeling is still so strange after all these years. His left leg stopping right below the knee, not being complete. Tonight the feeling brings back memories of those hours in the arena when I feared I would lose him, that his wound would make him bleed to death before the mutts finished Cato off. Of the moment when my traitorous mind was thankful that he had that wound because it increased my chances of surviving him. It reminds me of why I allowed myself to get in this state in the first place and assures me that I can endure a couple of weeks or months of nausea. For him I can do just about anything.

 

 

  


	2. Haymitch

The first thing I become aware of when I wake from my dream is that I’m screaming. The second is Peeta’s comforting arm around my shoulders. The third is the nausea rising like a wave. I close my eyes and gulp hard. It’s only when I sleep that I seem to be free of it. Five weeks have passed since it first appeared and how I’ve managed to hide it from Peeta I will never know.

I sit up and draw my knees closer to my body in the hope that it might ease the desire to vomit. Peeta sits with me, placing a soothing kiss on my shoulder as he rubs my upper arm with the hand draped across me.

“Just a dream...” he mumbles soothingly, still half asleep.

“Yeah” I pant.

“It’s been a while since the last one” he notes. “I wish I could tell you that one day they will go away completely but that would be a lie.”

“We’re both stuck with nightmares” I mumble in response.

I lean my head forward, closing my eyes and resting my brow against my knees while I wrap my arms around my legs. I don’t even remember what I dreamt about but that’s just as well. There are too many horrors to choose from. I’m exhausted and part of me wants to go back to sleep right away, hoping that one nightmare per night will be the limit, but first I must make the nausea dial down. It’s threatening to overwhelm me at the moment, as if fuelled by the bad dreams.

I lift my head and plant a gentle kiss on Peeta’s lips.

“Go back to sleep” I say. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and then I’ll fall asleep again right away. I’m exhausted and I can’t even remember what I dreamed about.”

He frowns but doesn’t protest as I lift up the thin blanket we sleep under during the summer months and swing my feet over the side of the bed very carefully. Any movement that’s too hasty is sure to make my stomach even more upset. I walk hurriedly towards the bathroom, closing the door behind me and rushing over to the sink to splash my face with ice cold water. I then fill a glass to the brim and take a few trembling sips. Maybe the cold water will make me feel better.

It has the opposite effect. Merely seconds after I gulp it down I find myself sending it right back up again, along with whatever was left in my stomach from our dinner. I gasp for air, close my eyes tight and inwardly curse the tears that always stream down my face with this activity. I wait for a while to see if it will get any better but it doesn’t at first and I begin to fear it will be like most days out in the woods. Ever since this whole thing started I have spent my time out there in a battle of wills with my uprising stomach, losing more often than winning, and sometimes it’s as if once I start vomiting it can go on for ages, far beyond the point where my stomach is empty. I don’t even want to think about how many basic hunting rules it violates; it’s not as if I have a choice in the matter and it’s at least better to seclude myself in the woods until I’m far enough along to let Peeta in on what’s going on.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t started asking questions yet. It’s the height of summer yet I often come home without any game at all, looking worse for wear than I ought to. Twice I have even bought game from a pair of teenaged siblings who are sometimes out hunting as well; officially to encourage the young people in town to learn how to hunt and provide for themselves but the real reason is to fool Peeta into thinking I did something more productive out in the woods than fight the sickness in my stomach and nibble on bread. One of the strangest things about this whole situation is that the one thing that seems to make the nausea better is eating. Bread is the best thing, something I can easily much on even when my appetite is low. I have begun stealing bread from Peeta’s morning trays, hoping he won’t notice that I’ve taken a much keener interest in his baked goods than I ever have before, which is saying something given how fond I have always been of the things he bakes. I’m worried that if he notices it will be one more piece of a puzzle that shouldn’t be too hard to assemble and I’m not ready for him to know about it yet. It’s still far too early.

When I go back out to the bedroom I’m startled to find Peeta still sitting up in bed waiting for me. It’s obvious that he heard me in there. It would be impossible for him not to have heard. Nervously I walk back to the bed and climb up on it, sitting next to him without uttering a word while my mind races a mile a minute. I have to tell him _something_ , but what? I have never been good at spontaneously lying to him. Plus he can read me like an open book after everything we’ve been through and all the years we have spent together. I need to get creative and fast.

It takes almost a full minute for him to say anything. He just looks at me and even though the room is dark I can see sadness and worry in his eyes. When he speaks he takes me by surprise.

“You are sick” he states. “Real or not real?”

I’m stunned at first. As time has gone by he has played that game less and less often. In the past ten years he’s used it maybe four or five times, always following a particularly powerful episode of the remains of the hijacking he was put through. Asking: “Real or not real?” is his tool to find reality when something far too frightening overcomes him. Him using it now must mean he’s afraid that there’s something very seriously wrong with me.

“Real” I manage to answer.

It’s hard to tell in the darkness but I think his face goes pale. He looks away for a second and swallows, then meets my eyes again.

“How bad? And why have you not told me?”

My hand reaches out and caresses his cheek.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you” I tell him. “I spoke with Mother over the phone when it first started... She says my symptoms are those of a disease that seems like stomach flu but it holds on for much longer. Weeks. Months even.” As I speak the lie comes easier and easier. I do remember Mother teaching Prim about this many years ago although she never said anything about it lasting for months. That part is just me buying time.

“Where would you have caught such a thing?” Peeta asks.

“Contaminated food or water” I answer.

“What have you eaten that I haven’t?” he wonders.

“It could have been in just one fruit” I tell him, hoping he won’t question it further since I am making this up as I go along now.

He looks at me with worry but at least the fear seems to be gone from his eyes. His hand reaches out to caress my cheek and I find myself smiling as I realize we are mirroring each other.

“How bad is it?” he wants to know. “I mean... how bad do you feel?”

“Like hell” I complain, relieved to finally be able to share my troubles with him without giving away the surprise too early. I lean in and rest my head against his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around me. I sigh, closing my eyes while wondering how I made it this far without his support. I’m not used to facing hardships without Peeta sharing it with me. It’s how we have operated for almost as long as we’ve known one another.

“You should have said something” Peeta mumbles into my hair. “You had me worried.”

“It will pass” I assure him. “The nausea, I mean... Mother says I just need to rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t go out into the woods every day if this is how you feel” says Peeta. “I know you love your hunting but I’m rather concerned you’ll get into trouble out there if you’re ill like this. A bunny rabbit could probably harm you in the state you’ve been in lately.”

I can’t help but laugh at the idea and wrap my arms around him, feeling a bit better.

“I’ll think about it” I tell him.

“Do that. I know how much you love your woods but these past few weeks I’ve been honestly worried when you’ve been out there.”

I assure him there is nothing to be worried about and give him a kiss. We lay back down and with his arms around me I soon find myself calm and at peace again. Before I can drift off to sleep a thought haunts my mind. Peeta wants children so much but I have been adamant against it. So adamant in fact that when faced with signs of a pregnancy he doesn’t even consider that as a possibility, worrying instead that I might be ill. Something about that is deeply unsettling to me.

I hear his breaths turn slow and steady and after a while they are accompanied by light snores. As he sleeps I let my mind wander, thinking back to when our fake relationship turned into reality. He wanted children even then, although not right away as we were still in our teens. I don’t want to think about that right now. All I want to think about are the good times. There have been so many. Many, many more than I ever thought possible during the war or in those first agonizing months after my sister’s death. Peeta brought me back to life. He gave me a future. In those first months of our relationship I never once felt guilt over the times I had made him sad since I knew I was now making him very happy. Against all odds we were making each other happy.

 

 

_Fifteen years earlier_

When I wake up in the morning it is a morning of many firsts. The first time in as long as I can remember that I’ve had a smile on my face. The first time in ages that I’ve felt good when I’ve woken up. It is the morning after Peeta and I consummated our relationship, which at least for me was my first time being intimate with someone, followed by my first admission of love to him. I turn my head to look at him and my smile somehow manages to grow wider. He looks so peaceful where he sleeps next to me. I know that even if I live for a thousand years I will always remember the look of happiness on his face when I confirmed that I do love him, not to mention the feel of the kisses that followed. I had thought that kisses could feel no better than those earlier that night, the ones that woke my hunger for him again. Instead I learned that when you can admit to yourself that you love another person and admit it to them as well the kisses get even better. I know now it was always going to end this way between us but I also know that it could probably not have happened any sooner. We needed all this time to get to this place. _I_ needed it. Peeta, he was already there, had been for a long time.

With a gentle hand I slowly caress his cheek, allowing myself a luxury I’ve never fully allowed myself before. To watch him as he sleeps, taking in every aspect of his face, marvelling at how the facial features that were nothing special to me at one point now have become the most beautiful features I have ever seen.

A loving smile plays on my lips. My sweet boy with the bread. Though after last night, calling him a boy is probably wrong. More like my sweet man with the bread. Truth be told I don’t even know if last night was the first time for him as it was for me; perhaps some other girl already took that step with him in the past and made him go from boy to man. It doesn’t really matter much. I know that whatever has transpired between him and other girls earlier on can in no way compare to what we gave to one another the night before.

I decide I can’t wait any longer to look into his eyes again. The hunger his kisses last night woke in me refuses to be sated. Even after we had been as intimate as two people can be I still craved more and more. Now I lean in and press my lips to his, feeling his mouth curl into a smile a second before his hand grabs the back of my head and a content groan lets me know he has woken up. His eyes remain closed for another few moments until the kiss ends and our eyes meet.

“Last night...” he begins.

“Real” I say before he can ask a question, laughing a little just because I’m happy for once.

“Today?”

“Today is ours” I tell him. “Forget baking or painting or hunting or getting intoxicated just from setting foot inside Haymitch’s house. Today I just want to be with you and explore this.”

The hunger is too persistent, too urgent for me to want to think about anything else than how to satisfy it. I want to spend every moment of my day with Peeta, exploring him, letting him explore me and together exploring everything new that comes with this upgrade of our relationship. I know Peeta won’t object. He’s been wanting for this much longer than I have. I wonder if every time we’ve ever kissed he has felt that hunger that now threatens to consume me. I think that might be the case but if so I have no idea how he managed to contain it. Never once has he tried to press his advantages. There hasn’t even been a straying hand in his sleep. I find it impressive but I am happy to note that I won’t have to restrain myself the way he has done. What I want is right there for the taking. Peeta belongs to me now and I belong to him.

I kiss him again, feeling my desire only grow deeper with each passing moment. It feels so good to finally let myself feel what I have been trying for so long not to feel. It feels so good to finally enjoy being in love.

 

 

It takes months to satiate my hunger to the point where we can start to find some form of normalcy to our lives, so reluctant am I to let go of that positive feeling. Those first months are forever embedded in my heart and my mind, memories I bring back and cherish when life gets too hard. We are all over each other during this time, experimenting and exploring and learning exactly how much fun sex is and how creative a pair of teenagers can be about it. When we aren’t naked we’re for the most part kissing or touching. It is probably a sickening sight to see which is why it is fortunate that we are left to ourselves most of the time. We do try and get our act together when other people were around, a shift that is not lost to us. Between the 74th and 75th Hunger Games we put a lot of energy into convincing people we were in love. Now that we both are we put almost as much energy into not making it painfully obvious in public.

Not that we fool anyone, or even really want to. It just seems inappropriate to act on our every desire when other people are watching and I think Peeta feel as I do, that the best moments are those that are shared when nobody but us is around. No cameras, no audience, no one who listens. The secrets we whisper to each other in the night are only for each other’s ears. The proclamations of love and affection are nobody else’s business.

Of course, we can’t always contain ourselves. Every Friday evening we have dinner with Haymitch, a tradition Peeta started when he came back from the Capitol and eventually involved me in, and the first week we are together our old mentor quickly tires of the looks we share and the kisses we steal when we think he’s not paying attention.

“If I wanted dinner and a show I would have gone to the Capitol” he sighs and gets up from his chair halfway through the meal, tossing his dirty napkin of the table. He stops at the door, giving us a look that is part irritation and part happiness for us. “Get a cave, you two. They seem to have suited you in the past...”

He leaves and Peeta and I share a look before bursting out laughing. We then finish dinner in a very platonic and well-mannered fashion, mocking the fine wine and dine style of the Capitol more and more with each passing minute. Then after dinner is done we retreat back upstairs and behave in ways Effie Trinket surely would never even imagine.

Though it’s not just physical. We play games, tell each other stories, spend long stormy days entertaining each other in front of the fire in the living room. For the first time in forever I’m actually having fun and it surprises me because I never thought I would again. This is why I need Peeta to survive. The fun we have, both with and without clothes on, and the happiness that’s in my heart can only come from him. Finally I begin to understand what he talked about at the beach of the Quarter Quell when he said his life would have no meaning anymore if I were gone. Now that I have tasted this kind of joy and fulfilment it’s hard to imagine ever having quality of life without it.

 

 

When enough time has passed that I’ve reached the point where I don’t crave Peeta’s lips and hands on me _right now_ at _all times_ I am hit by a sudden reflection. It’s been months on end without me taking many steps without him, spending almost every waking moment together at the cost of previous preferred activities such as my hunting or his painting. When the realization dawns on me it irritates me. This is not me. Katniss Everdeen is not someone who needs to spend every single moment with her boyfriend. She is not someone who depends on others. She is a free-spirited, independent person.

At first it makes me a little embarrassed to look back at myself over the past months. I have truly become the role I once played for the cameras; a role I disliked because that Katniss was so... co-dependent. True the past months have held more bliss than I thought my life ever could after the Games and the rebellion but enough is enough. I refuse to live the rest of my life as some ridiculously infatuated girl who can only talk and think about her boyfriend.

So when I wake up the next morning I quickly get out of bed and declare to a barely awake Peeta that I am going hunting. He mumbles something incoherent in reply and buries his face in the pillow, clearly not aiming to get out of bed for a good while yet.

I shower and dress myself for a day in the woods, sneaking past Peeta who has gone back to sleep and head down the stairs to rummage the kitchen for something to eat while I’m away. With my trusted bow in one hand and a backpack in the other I leave the house and very independently stalk towards the woods.

It feels remarkably good to be out there on my own again. Thoughts of Peeta often appear in my head but I have no trouble proving to myself, or anyone else who might care, that I can fully enjoy a day in the woods by my lonesome. It’s actually a bit of a relief to enjoy the silence, go where I want to go when I want to and do whatever I feel like without considering what somebody else might want. I hunt, I gather some herbs, I hike around the woods and for an entire day I don’t speak a single word to anybody but the animals in the forest.

I don’t return home until it’s almost nightfall. Peeta and I have spent practically a full day apart, something that hasn’t happened in a long time, and now that I have been so independent all day long I can afford to smile with eager anticipation as I walk the steps leading up to the front porch and the door. It’s beginning to get dark outside but the windows of my house shine with warm light, illuminating the primrose bushes planted beneath them. It feels great, coming home this way. I might not have my mother and my sister waiting for me when I pass the threshold but I have another type of family that’s no doubt as eager to see me as I am to see him.

“Hi!” I call out as I walk inside, ignoring Buttercup who sneaks in with me. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the whole house and I quickly get my jacket off to go and greet the baker. When I walk into the kitchen Peeta is taking another set of beautifully golden bread loafs out from the oven. He carefully sets them down on the stovetop and turns around to greet me, spots of flour on his cheeks and looking better than ever.

“Hey” he says. “Catch anything good for dinner?”

Before I answer him I put the game bag down on the table and walk up to him, claiming his cheeks between my palms as I give him a hungry kiss. I have longed for that kiss all day long but I don’t like to admit it.

"So you had a good day in the woods, then?” says Peeta with a charming smile when our lips part again.

“Caught three squirrels” I tell him. “I was tempted to do some fishing but that can wait until tomorrow.”

The line is in its own way a form of test. So far he has made no comment about being surprised or displeased that I was gone all day but I wonder how he will react to spending one more day apart from each other.

“Sounds like a plan” he tells me, making me frown. “We haven’t had fish in a while. I know something though that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

He kisses me again and I wrap my hands around his neck, agreeing wholeheartedly that this can’t wait until tomorrow. In fact it can’t wait another five minutes.

Fifteen minutes later we untangle ourselves and get up off the floor. Peeta pulls his pants on again and walks over to the table to start working on the squirrels. Sounds good to me, I’m famished. After putting my own clothes back on I take a seat on one of the chairs, pulling my feet up under me, reaching for a cookie in the basket sitting on the table.

“Don’t” says Peeta, somehow knowing what I’m doing even though he has his back turned to me. “Those are for Mayor Wilcox. Special order.”

I frown.

“Mayor Wilcox? When did you speak to him?”

“He was here earlier in the day” Peeta tells me, grabbing a knife to get to work on the squirrels. “Him and his family are moving in to the new house tomorrow and they wanted something nice to treat their guests.”

“So you’ve been keeping busy all day?” I ask, grabbing another cookie.

“Pretty much. It was refreshing, really. It’s been a while since I spent an entire day with my bowls and my pans.”

I make a sullen face while I ponder this and watch him from behind as he prepares dinner. He doesn’t sound like he missed me much at all today. In fact he sounds rather relieved that he got the chance to do something other than, well, me.

“What about tomorrow, then?” I ask. “Once Wilcox has stopped by to claim his cookies. What will you be up to?”

“Depends on how long you’re gone fishing, I guess” he shrugs.

“I might be gone all day, like I was today” I declare.

“Great” he says and actually seems to mean it. “If you catch more fish than we need and decide to trade some, could you see if you could find me some cardamom?” He finishes skinning a squirrel and tosses the fur in the sink. “I’m almost out and I won’t be getting any from the Capitol in around two months.”

“In conclusion you are fine with me being gone all day long so long as you get some cardamom out of it” I say, wondering why it bothers me so much that he doesn’t hate the idea of us being apart for several hours.

Peeta turns and smiles at me, tossing the squirrel’s tiny entrails to Buttercup who is meowing and begging like a pro.

“Cinnamon rolls taste better with it” he says.

“Oh, well in that case.”

If he picks up on my snarky tone he doesn’t let it on. By now I’m not sure if I’m more irritated with myself or with him. Why do I care so much about this when I myself want to spend time on my own? Why does he not care that we’ll be spending another full day away from one another? Has he been secretly longing for this for a while now without me realizing it?

“You surprise me” I say.

“Do I?” He tosses the skin from the second squirrel in the sink.

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“I didn’t think you’d be more excited about spices than about spending a day with me.”

He chuckles.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He turns his head and gives me another smile. “These past few months have been great. They just couldn’t last forever. At some point we have to establish some form of normalcy. You go out into the woods because that’s what you like to do. I bake bread and decorate cakes because that’s what I like to do. We both had interests and lives before this happened between us and we’d both be miserable if we gave that up. Plus I think we’d drive each other insane after a while if we were together all the time.” He finishes skinning the last squirrel and turns around to face me, looking sad all of a sudden. “And I think... I think we’ve been using our relationship as a means of escape. The more time I’ve spent with you, the more intense and physical things get, the more I can try and forget the things I don’t want to think about. Did you know I dreaded the day I would start baking again?”

“No.”

“Yeah, well I did. I mean, I’ve _baked_ since the war, I just... I haven’t spent a full day baking in I don’t know how long and it’s not just because of lack of time.” He makes a face and goes to grab a frying pan. “My whole family... everyone was a baker.”

I look down at my hands and nod slightly. He doesn’t talk about it very often so it’s almost surprising to me when I’m reminded of his loss.

“I miss Prim” I say. “I miss Gale.”

Peeta gets the frying pan without a word and then stops as he is about to put it on the stove. His latest batch of bread is still sitting there. For a moment I wonder if he’s about to have another flashback and if those bread loafs will come flying across the room in just a few seconds. Instead he sets the pan down with a sigh and begins to toss the still warm loafs into a basket.

“I guess we’ve both been using each other to escape” I say.

“I guess so” says Peeta, tossing the last loaf of bread in the basket and clearing the stovetop.

“I never thought I would feel good again” I say. “I never wanted to let go of that feeling once I had it. The feeling was real. We just... overdid it, I guess.”

He sighs heavily.

“I wouldn’t call it that... and I can’t speak for you. You have your own demons to fight. All I know is what it’s been like for me and I really needed it. That you actually love me too, I couldn’t believe it. When you’ve wanted something for that long and it’s finally yours you don’t squander time wallowing in grief and sadness.”

He sounds so resigned. I watch him work to prepare dinner and I realize I’ve hardly spent a second thinking about his problems and his losses. Hell, I haven’t even spent much time thinking about my own in the past months. All I’ve wanted to do was forget and to explore everything new and joyful that Peeta brought into my world.

I get up from my chair and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He freezes for a second but then continues his work.

“You’re absolutely right” I say. “We have been using _us_ to escape from our sorrows. Maybe that should taint us somehow but it doesn’t for me. Ever since the Games, no ever since my father died I have been searching for something to make the pain go away. I had long since given up on finding that when I returned here after the war. Then you somehow made it happen... Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing in the long run, I mean we did only delay dealing with things, but I for one really needed it. What’s so wrong about letting love make you feel better? As long as it’s _real_... and it is between us.” I kiss his neck. “I love you. We gave ourselves a few months of indulgence. Now it’s time to face the things we’ve been running from and I think we’re much better equipped to do so than we would have been if we hadn’t focused so much on the new development between us.”

“I just don’t want this to be about nothing more than escaping pain” mumbles Peeta.

“It’s not” I assure him. “It’s how about we make each other feel. It’s about having hope for a future.”

Finally he stops preparing dinner and turns around. His arms wrap around me and we hold each other close.

“This kind of sucks” he says. “This whole conversation and having to have it in the first place.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I was ready for this... I’ve been expecting it for weeks. I guess we’re done escaping now but I kind of wish that we weren’t.”

“It’s going to be different” I say. “I’ll be out in the woods, dealing with my stuff. You’ll be wherever you prefer to be, dealing with yours. When we’re together we’ll help each other deal. And at least once a day we’ll do something fun, just for us. It’s not all been escapism. A whole lot of it has been two people in love.”

He pulls back from the hug and finally smiles again, even if it’s not quite as brightly as when I first walked through the door.

“I still find it hard to believe sometimes” he says. “That you love me.”

“Believe it.” My arms move from around his waist up to around his shoulders and my fingers begin to play with the hair at the back of his neck. “But just so you won’t begin to doubt I think I will have to remind you as often as I can.”

I kiss him lovingly, hungrily. I’m still independent Katniss who likes to go out hunting and gathering in the woods but I’m also with Peeta now and that means truly sharing my world with him. All I have to do is figure out how to find the right balance.

 

 

Buttercup struts by me and over to the couch where Peeta is busy sketching. With a meow the scrawny cat hops up on the couch and begins to purr as he climbs up on Peeta’s lap. I snort. From the moment Peeta began to spend a lot of time here Buttercup has made no secret of who he prefers and of course it’s not me. The ugly fellow looks over at me and seems to grin and purrs even louder, as if to point out to me that not only does he like Peeta better, he is also now occupying the lap I love to rest my head on. I roll my eyes and walk over, grabbing Buttercup by the neck and lifting him away, ignoring his indignant hisses.

My plan is to wrap an arm around Peeta’s shoulders, get his full attention by blowing air into his ear and then comment on whatever he’s drawing before giving him a good reason to put his pad and pencil away and focus on me. I only get as far as sitting down on the couch beside him because then I see what he is sketching and I suddenly feel like I know what Haymitch feels when I wake him up with a bucket of cold water.

On the piece of paper in his hands Peeta has lovingly sketched a picture of me kneeling on a meadow, my hands gently gripping a toddler attempting to take her first steps. It’s an excellent sketch, drawn with love and care, and it practically makes my skin crawl.

“What is that?” I manage to get out.

“Something I’ve been working on for the past hour” answers Peeta, oblivious to my tone.

“Why are you drawing me and a child?” I ask coldly.

He looks up, surprised by how hostile I sound.

“Because...” He shrugs and turns his eyes back to the drawing. “Sometimes I get tired of drawing the past and find it more fulfilling to draw visions of the future.”

He’s unprepared when I grab the piece of paper and yank it away from him, resulting in a large line of charcoal running over the face of the child. His perplexed and annoyed look only makes me more irritated.

“Why on earth would you draw a _child_ in our future?” I ask.

He looks even more perplexed. Then he looks angry and gets up from the couch, setting his pad down on the coffee table.

“What has gotten into you?” he asks. “What’s so strange about me imagining us one day having kids?”

I realize that I never actually told him how I feel about marriage and procreation, or if I did it was at some point when he had reason to believe I wasn’t serious. Getting angry and yanking the piece of paper from his hand was probably an unfair reaction. Still, no time like the present. He needs to know my stance on this and the sooner the better.

“Peeta I don’t want you going around hoping to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet” I say, pulling my feet up under me on the couch.

“Relax Katniss” he says, his voice calmer and his eyes friendlier. “I don’t want to have kids _now_. I want to have you all to myself for the nearest future. Besides, we’re not even in our twenties yet and I think we need to work past some of our issues from the war before bringing children into the world.”

He’s obviously not getting it. I set my feet back on the floor and stand up slowly.

“I can’t imagine ever having children” I tell him.

“Yeah I feel that way sometimes too” says Peeta. “When I have those attacks of hijacked memories or when one of us has a terrible nightmare or when I see Haymitch too drunk to even stand up straight I feel like we can barely take care of ourselves, let alone a new generation. Then those moments pass, often very quickly, and I think about how many great things there are in the world. Things I’d like to share with a kid, you know?”

I hold up my hands to stop him from getting carried away.

“That is not what I’m saying” I emphasize. “I’m saying that I do not want children. At all. At any point. It’s not something I feel during the worst of times, it’s something that I feel at all times. You need to know that.”

He frowns.

“Maybe you feel that way now but the further we get from the war--”

“It has nothing to do with the war!” I object. “I mean... Yes it has to do with the war but it’s not just that. How can you want children? How can anybody want children when they’ve seen what we’ve seen and suffered what we’ve suffered?”

“Katniss I understand why you feel that way” he says. “ _I’ve_ felt that way. But all that is in the _past_ now.”

“It will never be truly in the past” I object. “These nightmares that we have, they won’t completely go away. I’m sorry Peeta but I’m not bringing a child into this world. I don’t care if you want one or not. It’s never going to happen so you might as well accept it and please don’t draw any more pictures of it. Now you know how I feel and that’s just that.”

“Evidently so” he says, his blue eyes colder now. “You don’t want kids and that’s just that and to hell with what I want.”

“I’m sorry” I say, which could have been a good start if not for what blurts out of me next. “That’s just the way it is and it sucks for you that you find out about it now but it wouldn’t be such a shock to you if you had bothered to get to know me before deciding you were in love with me.”

Once the words are out there’s nothing but silence for about ten seconds and those seconds feel like minutes. I don’t know what compelled me to say it. Maybe it’s an insecurity I’ve carried somewhere deep inside. He didn’t know me when he fell for me and after he was hijacked I saw far too clearly that there were sides of me he had either chosen to ignore before or just plain failed to notice. There is some part of me that wishes he hadn’t fallen in love with me until he knew me. Maybe what happened after his hijacking was that he fell in love with me all over again, this time knowing full well all the negative things about me, but I don’t know that for sure.

Peeta stares at me with disbelief and I feel a brief pang of guilt over what I said. Then my frustration over being in this situation takes over and I feel anger more than guilt. Why does he have to want kids? Can’t he see that it’s a horrible idea? Why does he always have to be so naive and believe that things can just work out?

“Wow” he says when he finally speaks. “I cannot believe you are throwing something like that in my face. I never _decided_ that I was in love with you and the mere implication...” He snorts. “I’ll take my offensive drawings and offensive opinions somewhere else.”

I can tell there are a lot of other things he would like to say to me right now but when it comes to using his words he has always been much smarter than me. He knows when to talk and he knows when it’s better to hold his tongue. He walks past me and goes out the back door, resisting the urge to slam it. I scowl at him once he’s gone, even angrier because he didn’t retaliate and say something equally hurtful to me. As it is I now have to feel guilty over what I said to him knowing he didn’t retort.

Buttercup meows unhappily, probably worried that he’s not going to get cream in the morning now that the one who provides the tastier food has left.

“Oh of course you’d take his side” I hiss at the cat.

I quickly put out the fire and stomp upstairs, too angry and worked up to be concerned about going to bed all on my own. I don’t even miss him when I close my eyes and try to go to sleep. When I wake up screaming from another nightmare it only makes me angrier to not find him there. Why didn’t he stay and yell it out and then we could both have gone to bed sulking, our backs turned to one another? He wouldn’t have been overly fond of me but at least he would have been here. Being angry is no excuse to leave me all alone to fight my nightmares.

Buttercup lies on Peeta’s pillow and glares at me in the night. He obviously doesn’t feel the least bit sorry for me. Still, at least he’s a living being and he’s someone I found comfort in before Peeta came back from the capitol. I reach out for him and pull him over to me and he doesn’t protest. I bury my face in his fur and wish things could be different. Why did I allow myself to think life could be peaceful from now on?

 

 

A few days pass without Peeta coming over and without me going to see him. It’s the longest we’ve been completely apart since returning to our homes and while I hate sleeping alone and I miss his company I’m also mad at him and unwilling to go and apologise. I know I said something hurtful that I didn’t really mean but the core of the problem is not something I should be apologising for. It’s my full right to never have children and I have pretty much convinced myself that he’s angry with me for it and that it’s the reason why he won’t come see me. So after the first day has passed I’ve managed to convince myself that he should be the one to come and apologise, or at the very least try to make things better again.

I spend most of my time out hunting or bartering in town. I avoid the stores I know Peeta visits the most even though there’s a part of me that hopes I will run into him. I can’t figure out what I really want or how I really feel right now and it angers me. I’m in a really foul mood and even Buttercup begins to leave me alone rather than end up in another hissing match. After the third day I don’t even see the cat anymore. No doubt he’s figured out where Peeta’s at and decided he was better company.

I take most of my anger out on the animals I hunt. I feel a little bit better the day I manage to shoot a small deer, drag it back from the woods and sell most of it to the butcher. I don’t need the money but I don’t need that much meat either and it’s good business to deal with the butcher. He takes care of preparing the meat and by tomorrow I can come and pick up the share I didn’t sell without having to lift a finger.

On my way home I realize I should have gone into a clothing store and bought a new pair of gloves but I can’t be bothered turning around now. The gloves I’m wearing have a tear in them and the cold winter air has begun to really chill my fingers which just adds to my current annoyance. Well, at least I don’t have to feel that cold air in the night since with Peeta being a no-show I can sleep with my windows shut.

I’m more than halfway home when I feel the scent of alcohol and I realize the sound of footsteps have been following me for a while. There can only be one person those footsteps and that alcohol smell belong to but I’m not interested in talking to him.

“I see you and Peeta have detached yourselves from one another” notes Haymitch, coming up to walk beside me.

I snort at him and furiously kick an icy bit of snow. It seems that no matter how far we get from the very public lives we once led we will always have Haymitch as an audience.

“I had no idea you cared so much” I say in a tone that implies that he’s pathetic for taking an interest in our love lives.

“Well, you could either take out all your anger on the snow or you can tell me what caused Peeta to suddenly remember there are bedrooms in his house too.”

“It’s... this stupid drawing” I mutter, staring at the snowy ground before us. “Nothing you would be interested in.”

“What did he draw?” Suddenly his face widens with a grin. “Johanna Mason in the nude?”

“No” I say with a frown.

“Delly Cartwright  in the nude?”

“No.”

“Gale in the nude?”

The obvious enjoyment he’s taking from it infuriates me and I send my elbow into his chest. The grin disappears for a second but then he chuckles.

“Whatever he did paint it doesn’t matter” he then says. “You will have forgotten it by the end of the week if not sooner. I know you’ve never been in love before, sweetheart, but even though you may have thought otherwise you’re going to fight with him and you’re going to make up with him and you’re going to do it often.” He shrugs a little. “Perhaps not as often as some but it happens to every couple. The sooner you learn not to be so dramatic about it the better. Sulk for a day or two then kiss and make up. They say make-up sex is really good.”

My face turns as red as it’s ever been. The last thing I ever need to hear is my former mentor talking about _that_. I’ve never been comfortable discussing that particular topic; even with Peeta I prefer not to talk about it. Enjoying it is one thing, putting the things we do behind closed doors into words is a whole other.

Besides, Haymitch doesn’t understand. Not if he thinks this is just a simple quarrel between two young lovers.

“Haymitch he painted a picture of me and a child.”

If I weren’t so frustrated I’d find the look of pretend horror on his face comical.

“The nerve!” Haymitch gasps. “If I had only known. Too bad the Games are over because he should be sent straight back to the arena.”

“This is not a joke” I say angrily, frustrated that he doesn’t understand me the way I’ve come to expect him to always do. “I don’t want children. I’m not going to have children.”

“You’re not supposed to want children at your age” says Haymitch. “But you know Peeta. He’s probably frustrated now that he doesn’t have anybody he needs to protect.”

“That’s not funny” I say icily.

“Katniss I don’t see what the big deal is” says Haymitch and looks at me with his eyebrow raised. “He painted you with a child, so what? He sees his future with you. I was under the impression you had begun to see yours with him.”

“I do” I say, calming down a little. “Children are just not part of the deal.”

“I know they are among the most annoying things on the planet, what with the noise and the smells and having to _raise_ them... I wasn’t aware that _you_ were so adverse to the idea. You’ve always had such a maternal strike about you.”

That surprises me a little. Haymitch and I think very much alike and I thought if anybody could understand it would be him.

“After everything we’ve seen how could any of us want kids?” I ask. “I can’t understand that you and Peeta seem to think it’s a good idea at all.”

“The Hunger Games are over, Katniss” says Haymitch, confirming that his mind does go to the same places as mine does.

“So?” I say, my voice rising a little. “There’s always going to be some new threat. Games or no Games, kids still die of hunger or diseases. We’ve only had peace and freedom for a few years; who’s to say it is going to last? I will not bring children into the world when I can’t guarantee them a safe place to grow up in.”

“When was there ever a safe place and time to grow up in?” asks Haymitch. I look up at him and he’s got a strange look in his eyes as he studies me. “Things are different now, Katniss. I don’t know about you... I thought one of the reasons why we rose up against the Capitol, one of the things people fought and died for, was so that people would no longer have to be afraid to start a family because the Capitol could take their children away.” We reach the Victors’ Village and he stops at the part of the road where we go in different directions. He shoves his hands in his pocket and looks at me. “I get that you’re afraid, sweetheart. I’m betting Peeta is too but he’s braver than you or me. He might have painted that picture for any number of reasons but if having children is something he really wants then you should think long and hard about that.”

“I should be forced to bear children because the person I am with wants them?”

“You should learn to compromise. That doesn’t mean you have to do all the things he wants but it sounds to me like you’re not even considering it. At the very least allow him to want it even if you’re never going to give it to him.” He begins to walk towards his house, turning his head to give me one last bit of food for thought. “You are not playing dress-up in front of the cameras anymore, sweetheart. This time it’s for real. You should think about what that means and remember that there are things in life he wants other than you.”

 

 

I spend the rest of the day sitting on the couch with Buttercup, who for whatever reason decided that I’m worthy this afternoon, thinking about the things Haymitch said. I know he’s right – to an extent. It’s just more complicated than that. Usually Haymitch offers sound advice but in this matter it’s not as clear-cut as when our lives were on the line. There is no real right or wrong here. Nobody is obligated to have children or even want them, just as everyone has the right to want them. He’s right that it will come down to a matter of compromise but he can’t offer any answer as to who should be the one to give in. That’s up to Peeta and me.

Even so I crave his advice. I realize it as the day goes on. When I finally grow tired of Buttercup’s angry meowing over wanting dinner I get up and feed the cat and then leave my house to go see Haymitch.

I step inside expecting to find darkness, the smell of old garbage and my old mentor stretched out on the sofa clutching a bottle of white liquor like a child would a bottle of milk. Instead the place is somewhat clean, the lights are on and it smells like dinner. Surprised I walk through the corridor into the bright kitchen where Haymitch sits with a deck of cards, playing some form of solitaire. He looks clean and sober and the kitchen is somehow clean even though I can clearly tell from the smell that he’s had a proper dinner.

“Hi” I say with a hint of confusion.

He looks up.

“Well hello again, sweetheart. You just missed your boyfriend. He came over and seized my kitchen, force-fed me some form of spinach lasagne. Too bad you’re late or you could have gotten some yourself.”

That explains a thing or two. The smell of food, the lights, the kitchen and the whole downstairs area being clean. Peeta hates a mess when he’s preparing food. I wonder why he came by. Was it to talk about me? It annoys me that Peeta would turn to Haymitch for advice about us even though I’m here for that very purpose myself. It must be even more awkward for Haymitch. He never signed up to be a mediator between the two of us.

I pull out a chair and take a seat by the table.

“I don’t know why he bothers feeding you” I say. “Sounds like a waste of good lasagne to me.”

“If you’re here for some friendly advice you’re not off to a good start.”

“Is that why Peeta was here?” I ask, reaching out for a grape from the bowl on the table.

“No” says Haymitch. “Unlike you he doesn’t want something every time he walks through my door. It’s Friday, in case you haven’t noticed, and the boy and I have been having dinner on Friday nights since he came back from the Capitol. I feel odd telling you this since you’ve been present for the vast majority of these occasions but since you don’t seem to remember it I suppose I have to remind you.”

“I had no idea it was Friday” I mutter, chewing down on a grape.

“Peeta came to make dinner” says Haymitch. “You’ve come for something else. Let’s hear it, sweetheart.”

I grab another grape and chew on it slowly before speaking.

“I don’t want kids, Haymitch.”

“That really isn’t my problem” he replies, studying the card he just drew before placing it on one of the piles. “Unfortunately it’s the boy’s problem.”

“You said there are things he wants other than me” I say. “Why did you say it?”

“You know why I said it.”

“You think we’ll fall apart over it?”

“Children tend to be a deal-breaker” says Haymitch. “If one person wants them badly and the other can’t imagine having them somebody’s going to end up giving in and in the process lose a huge part of themselves. Usually it’s the person who wants kids who has to give up. We both know Peeta would never force you to get pregnant against your will.”

“No” I agree. “He would never do that.” There’s a pause. “So you think he will leave me?”

“No I don’t” sighs Haymitch. “That boy has gone to hell and back for you; he was willing to die for you before you even saw him as a _friend_.”

“You’re saying I should leave him” I conclude. “So that he can have kids with somebody else and be happy.”

“I’m not saying that either” says Haymitch, setting the cards aside and looking up at me. “If he has to make the choice he’ll choose you above children, every time. If you love him then you’ll let him choose for himself. I just think you should be sure, Katniss. If you don’t want to be a mother then don’t be. Just... make that decision for the right reasons.”

“I don’t want children” I say. “For the right reasons. Because I know I can’t handle it.”

“Then might I suggest you two keep a bit more distance between your baby makers” says Haymitch dryly and begins to lay out the cards for another round of solitaire. “Those pills I presume you take are no guarantee. What will you do if you one day realize that he’s knocked you up, huh sweetheart?” He gives me a firm look. “That’s what you need to think about.”

The reality of what he’s saying overcomes the embarrassment I feel at the mentioning of mine and Peeta’s private entanglements. I don’t believe Haymitch is advocating lifelong chastity but rather that he’s trying to make me think long and hard about how I truly feel. There is always a small risk involved, truthfully I have been a bit nervous for a few days every month in case I would get a sign that the pills have failed me, and as long as I’m in a real relationship with Peeta this is going to be a possibility. I don’t want children but I also don’t want to give up my sex life with the man I’m in love with. The closeness, the pleasure, the intimacy... Something we share that is truly ours and gives us an outlet for all the things we feel that words cannot describe. It’s a risk I’m willing to take and I know that the odds are for once in my favour but there are never any guarantees.

“If that happens...” I say slowly after a minute. “Then I suppose I will be a mother.”

“There are easy ways to end unwanted pregnancies, you know that” says Haymitch a touch too casually.

“I couldn’t” I say. “Not Peeta’s baby. There’s no way I could ever abort a child by him.”

“That’s good that you know that” says Haymitch much more gently and he reaches out a hand, placing it on top of mine. “It’s not my place to interfere in your relationship and only you and him can decide what’s right for you as a couple. But it would have pained me a great deal if he had fathered the child I know he badly wants and you took it away.”

I give Haymitch a cold look.

“Well I wouldn’t” I say firmly.

“Good. I think you might have your compromise right there.”

A dozen insulting comments and clever comebacks are on my lips but I can’t seem to get them out. He gives me a pointed look and then returns to his cards. He doesn’t need to say anything else. I’m not so adamantly against children that I would take away one that has already been conceived and begun to exist. If I had been then it might get really complicated at some point in our future. I lean back in the chair and grab another handful of grapes. I’m not sure what to make of this, really. The fact that I would not terminate a pregnancy by Peeta means he might get his wish one day and have kids. But it’s a faint hope to cling to.

“I’m not going to tell him that though, and neither are you” I say to Haymitch. “It would be cruel. It implies hope.”

“You’re not as adamant against kids as you think you are” says Haymitch.

“What the hell do you know about it?” I snort.

“I know that you don’t hate kids. I know that you have a maternal streak about you. I know that the reason you don’t want them is that you don’t feel safe enough to have them. Some day that might change.”

I say nothing for a while, chewing grapes and flicking the seeds across the table. Peeta must have stayed behind after dinner and cleaned everything up because there’s not a dirty dish in sight yet I don’t feel bad about scattering grape seeds all over. It’s not like Haymitch won’t make a mess real soon anyway.

“How was he?” I then ask. “Did he seem okay?”

“He didn’t talk about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It is, to an extent. I can only imagine what goes through his mind right now. He must have genuinely thought I wanted children, or at least that I was open to the idea, and I can understand that it came as a shock to him that I’m so against it. On top of that I yelled at him about it as if he’s in the wrong and then I haven’t spoken a word to him in a few days.

“Did he seem okay?” I ask again.

“Why don’t you go ask him?”

 

 

The front door is locked but I have a key. The door opens with a creek that reminds me he doesn’t spend a lot of time here anymore. Except these past days. I step inside the house which is strangely unfamiliar to me considering my close connection to its owner. Peeta and I have never spent much time here together. I take off my coat and realize the coat hanger is not even on the same side of the door as it is in my house or Haymitch’s. I hang the coat up and take off my shoes to avoid getting melting snow everywhere.

I say his name but get no response. I walk into the kitchen and find it empty with no lights on, though on the counter sit some very familiar sights. Flour, sugar, various baking paraphernalia. So that’s what he’s been doing these past days. I look up at the clock on the wall and see that it’s past eight. The house looks like he’s called it a night and gone upstairs to sleep but since when does Peeta go to bed at eight o’clock at night?

I walk up the stairs, trying to remember which room is his bedroom. Since the house seems ready for the night perhaps I ought to come back tomorrow but it seems strange to me that he would have gone to sleep already. Perhaps he’s just not planning on going downstairs again this evening. He might be up painting or reading a book or doing any number of things. I say his name again but still get no response. I hope he’s still awake. I don’t want to have to wait till tomorrow morning to talk things over and be on good terms again. I’m tired of being at odds with one another and I’m not sure I can take another night without him near.

I remember which room he sleeps in and knock carefully on the door. When I get no answer I push the door open with my foot and my eyes fall on him right away. He has indeed gone to bed and is asleep already. I turn to leave but then I hear a moan pass over his lips. I turn and look at him, wondering if I really heard it or if I just imagined it. Then he whimpers and I realize what’s going on. I don’t recall ever seeing it before but Peeta is having a nightmare. I usually sleep through his bad dreams, never knowing about them unless he tells me in the morning, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s having one right now. Then suddenly he gasps and his eyes shoot open. I stand frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do at first even though I probably should given how often I find comfort in Peeta’s arms when I’ve had a bad dream.

Before I can decide on what to do he sees me and lifts himself up on his elbow. Suddenly I wonder what he was dreaming about. He once told me that his dreams were mostly about losing me. That was before the was hijacked by the Capitol. Are his bad dreams still the same?

“It’s just me” I say, in case my appearance in the doorway startled him. I walk closer to the bed. “I came to talk to you but you were already asleep. You had a nightmare.” He nods. “The same kind you used to have? That you told me about on the train?” He nods again. Without knowing if he even wants me here after the argument we had I get up on the bed and sit on my knees in front of him. “I’m here” I tell him. “You haven’t lost me. You never will lose me. I don’t care what we fight about or what might happen; you will never lose me. And I love you. So much that it scares me.”

His hand reaches out and runs through my hair. Tired of being at odds with each other and realizing that he needs me now like I so often need him in the night I lean in and kiss him to prove my words. He hesitates only for a second before parting his lips and letting me in. I wrap my arms around him, he buries both his hands in my hair. We stay like that until we both need to come up for air.

“You’re welcome under the covers if you’d prefer” he says.

I grin and sit up straight, pulling my sweater over my head. It takes about a minute for me to shed my clothes and crawl underneath the covers and I realize this is the first time I’ve ever been in Peeta’s bed. He’s always been the one who comes to mine.

I let my hand caress his cheek before I lean in for another kiss. I haven’t apologised to him and he hasn’t apologised to me but it doesn’t seem like it will be necessary. I’ve really missed him and he’s clearly missed me too. All that matters to me right now is being together and making him feel safe after his dream.

It turns out Haymitch was right. We do occasionally have our fights. And the make-up sex is fantastic.

 

 

I wake up screaming from a nightmare that must have been worse than usual for the intense panic and disorientation does not release its hold even though I can’t remember what the dream was about. I gasp for breath, trembling and so anxious it’s almost physically painful. Peeta’s arms are around me just a heartbeat after I awake. With my eyes closed and my voice coming out in short bits between the gasps I repeat to myself the mantra that helps keep me sane.

“My name is Katniss Mellark. I am thirty-two years old.” The words are merely a faint whisper, just enough so that I can hear them myself, but they usually help. Not as much tonight, for whatever reason. Still I continue. “My husband is Peeta. My sister Prim is dead. I live. I survived two Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. That was fifteen years ago.”

That is as far as I get tonight. There are a few more statements to repeat but I can tell they won’t be any help this time. When the faint whisper of my voice goes silent Peeta makes his own addition.

“You are safe at home” he says in a soothing voice. “Everything is okay.”

 

 


	3. Peeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it took me forever to get this story updated... I think this chapter is way too mushy/fluffy but maybe that's a good thing when you compare to the other story I've currently got going on ;) I hope it feels in character at least.  
> Time jumps/flashes forward and back aren't going to be "prefaced" anymore like in the previous chapter. I hope it still makes sense and that you can follow where in the timeline we are in any given scene.

As with our first engagement I am the one who brings up the topic of marriage.

We are cooped up together in an armchair, Peeta and me, watching the fire slowly die. It is his twentieth birthday, an occasion we have chosen not to make a big deal about. He made a cake, together we prepared dinner, Haymitch joined us and gave the same toast he seems to be intending on giving every time Peeta or I have a birthday. It’s short, to the point and basically congratulates whoever is having the birthday for having made it another year more than Haymitch had ever expected.

Now Peeta and I are almost alone. The only other living being in the room is cranky old Buttercup who is rolled up on the carpet by the fireplace. Peeta’s hand is in-between both of mine, my fingers casually playing with his as my mind wanders to thoughts of previous birthday celebrations with other people.

Peeta’s mind seems to be far away as well but he is the first to break the silence.

“I have to agree with old Haymitch” he says. “When my name got drawn at the reaping I took for granted that I wouldn’t live to see seventeen. Now after _two_ Hunger Games and one rebellion I’m somehow celebrating my twentieth birthday. Who would have thought?”

“Nothing’s really the way we thought it would be when we first left the district” I reply.

“For good and for bad.”

I turn my head to study his face. The blonde hair that falls over his brow, the blue eyes I could stare into forever, the strong jaw I love tracing kisses along. To think that his face once evoked nothing special in me. Now I know I want to look at that face, not to mention kiss and caress it, every day for the rest of my life.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the past couple of months. There’s not a doubt in my mind or my heart anymore that I belong with Peeta and he belongs with me. Imagining us separated doesn’t seem possible anymore. We’re not married, officially we’re not even living together, but we are building a life together and life without him seems unimaginable.

“Peeta?” I say.

“Mmm?”

“Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Different how?”

“You know...” I say, reaching my hand up to move a strain of blonde hair away from his brow. “Between us?”

He gives me an uncomfortable look.

“Between us? No, why would I?” He seems quite nervous. “Do you?”

“Yeah” I say.

Poor Peeta. I realize now that I chose my words badly because he seems to think I’m about to break up with him on his birthday. Before he can start to worry too much I continue talking.

“I wish we were married.”

The look on his face slowly changes from worry to pleased disbelief.

“Married?”

“Yeah” I nod. My fingertips lightly brush his lips. “Would you, Peeta? Marry me?”

“Am I not supposed to be the one who asks you?”

“You already did” I remind him. “Do you remember what my answer was?”

“That was not real” he says with a frown.

“It wasn’t then” I agree. “It can be now. We belong together, you know that. We practically live together already; why pretend otherwise when we can just embrace it? I want to make it official. I want us to be bound together in every way there is." I don't add that I would feel much safer if we were bound together in every possible way because marriage feels like a form of security line. He doesn't need to know that. He just needs to know I want it to happen because I love him. "I want to spend every possible moment of the rest of my life with you.”

It’s not the most romantic proposal but Peeta doesn’t seem bothered. His smile widens and he gives me a loving kiss.

“I would like that” he says. “To be married.”

“So you agree, then? That we should get married?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“I’d be honoured.”

We kiss and I realize two rather obvious things. One – I’m once again engaged to be married, which makes two betrothals for someone who vowed never to marry at all. Two – it doesn’t scare me or make me uncomfortable. It is so different from the first time around and I’m glad that it’s a private affair between Peeta and me and not a public display.

Peeta seems to be thinking something similar. Once our lips part and we come to our senses a bit he addresses the matter before saying anything else.

“So do we... make some form of announcement about this?” he asks. “I don’t know about you but there aren’t a lot of people whom I can’t imagine not inviting to our wedding... Seems like we can keep this more traditional, less spectacular.”

“I don’t want to restart our whole official wedding circus again” I nod. “The good thing about that though is that I don’t think we need to make any announcements. Technically we never called off our engagement.”

Peeta laughs.

“Now that you mention it, in the eyes of the public we’re already married.”

My mind goes back to the interviews before the Quarter Quell and I realize he’s right. He lied on stage that night and said we were married and pregnant. I wonder how many people still believe that. Most of the folks we knew back here figured out it was a lie but in other places in Panem people must have believed it. I wonder what they thought during the Quell and during the rebellion. I wasn’t exactly acting like a devoted wife, and Peeta...

“Do you think we’ll ever get to live without having the damn Hunger Games haunting us?” I sigh. “I hate that our fake relationship continues to follow us even after all of that should be over.”

“I don’t think people care that much” says Peeta. “Not anymore. We were the new, hip thing back then. Like the latest fad, or something. It’s old news now. Too many lives have been shattered and people are just busy trying to rebuild their lives.”

“Like you and me.”

“Yeah.”

“And we build our future together” I say. “I’ve been afraid of the future for a long time but with you I’m actually looking forward to it.”

He gives me a kiss.

“So do you want to do it soon? If we’re just doing a brief ceremony with you and me we can have it happen next week.”

“I think something a little more celebratory than that is in order” I smile. “I don’t want a big shindig like we would have had under Snow’s orchestration but I want it to be special. It’s for real, this time. It really means something.” I remember his reaction when I suggested an engagement during the Victory Tour and how it took Haymitch to explain to me that Peeta didn’t like it because he wanted it to be real. How many times did I hurt him without even understanding it? I give him another kiss, more passionate this time. “No cameras... No Capitol audience... No voting on which dress I should wear... You and I can have whatever we want. All on our own terms. Let’s take some time and plan this and make sure it’s just the way we want it.”

“All I want from our wedding is for you to feel the way I do and want it as much as I do” he tells me, reminding me again of our first engagement.

“I do, on both accounts” I whisper and bring my lips to his again.

 

 

The day of our wedding I wake up alone in bed. It’s September and eight months have passed since we decided we were going to do this. We could have probably gotten all the planning done in just a month or two and at first Peeta wanted us to do it around the time of my birthday in May. I argued against it, preferring to have the wedding at the end of summer, after the time of year when the Games were held. Too many dark memories are associated with the beginning of summer for me to want to have one of the most important days of my life at that time of year if it can be avoided.

I have not slept all that well during the night but for once it’s been more about nerves and building excitement than for fear of nightmares. When I wake up it is ten minutes before the alarm is set to go off but I know I won’t be able to get another moment of sleep. I toss the comforter aside so fast I don’t even notice Buttercup sleeping next to me and he lets out a highly indignant wail at being sent flying across the bed. I make a face at him and he hisses back at me.

“I’m not getting into a fight with you today, ugly old thing” I say. “Don’t look so grumpy. You should be glad that Peeta’s becoming an official family member. You’ve always liked him better than me anyways.”

After a long shower I stand in front of the mirror, watching myself. For a moment I almost wish my old prep team was there to help me prepare. They would not have approved at all of what stares back at me in the mirror. I haven’t given a single thought to getting rid of any body hair since I left the Capitol but different patches of skin have had different success with growing it, leaving bald spots here and there. My eyebrows would probably look like hideous wild bushes in my team’s eyes. My figure, at least, is fuller than it was when they first saw me and the hair on my head is in quite good shape thanks to the regular washings it has been getting. I haven’t cut it in years and for a brief second I consider doing just that. It would be nice to have it cut real short for a change. Though maybe that had better wait. I would prefer it if Peeta recognized me when I meet up with him at the new City Hall which has taken the place of what was once the Justice Building.

We have talked about it at length over the past months, him and me. What we want our wedding to be like. Neither one of us wants the grandiose show that would have been put up for us in the Capitol had the Quarter Quell not interfered. We’d much rather have something simple, something private. Something like what he told people we had had during his interviews before the 75th Games.

I dress in my regular old clothes though I make sure that the ones I put on are clean. I then grab a garment bag I have kept hidden in the far back of my closet. It’s not anything particularly grandiose compared to the gowns I have worn in the past but I saved it for something special and it’s perfect for today. Cinna designed it. It’s a simple, ankle-length satin dress that shimmers in white and orange. It was made for me to wear for a public appearance after my Capitol-produced wedding and Cinna must have asked Peeta what his favourite colour was before he made it or it’s meant to be an allusion to my Girl On Fire persona. I never saw the dress before I left District 12 after the reaping but I found it when I came back after the war was over. I tried it on a few weeks ago and although it’s not a perfect fit anymore I can at least wear it and it feels right. I like to imagine that by wearing one of Cinna’s creations we will somehow get his blessings.

I put the garment bag in a large bag I am bringing with me to City Hall. I walk down the stairs of the empty house, knowing that soon it will be inhabited by someone else, and cast a glance inside the dining room. We hardly ever use it but we’re making an exception for today. After we’ve signed the legal documents and gone through whatever ceremonies they now use for weddings we will return here and toast the bread together. This evening Haymitch, Greasy Sae and a selected few other people relatively close to us have been invited for dinner and we will reveal our new marriage to them then. I shot a deer just days ago and together Peeta and I have prepared for a nice meal of it tonight, and then there’s of course the wedding cake made by the groom.

It’s a bit chilly for the month of September when I open the door and step outside to walk into town. I cast a glance at Peeta’s house, the one he’s barely ever used in a good while. I wonder if he has left yet or if he’s still there. I’m a bit nervous and wouldn’t mind walking into town together with him but we agreed we wouldn’t see each other until we meet up to sign the documents.

“Are you wearing _that_?” Haymitch’s voice breaks through the silence.

I turn to find him standing on his porch, leaning against the rail with a disapproving look at my outfit which is just the same as any other day.

“Yes” I say innocently, trying my best to act like this is just any regular day.

“I knew you weren’t the lovey-dovey type but this kind of takes the prize” snorts Haymitch. “I wonder if Peeta knows what he’s really getting himself into.”

I blush.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never were a good liar, sweetheart.”

So he knows, or thinks he knows. I cock my neck, wondering how he could possibly have an idea what was going on, and send him a smirk.

“Not lying, Haymitch” I insist. “I’m heading out hunting. What were you expecting me to wear? A leotard?”

The suggestion makes him cackle and my smile widens a little.

“You had better hurry if you don’t want to run into Lover Boy” he says. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him use that name for Peeta before. “He hasn’t left yet but I’m betting he will real soon. He’s never been much for tardiness, has he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Haymitch” I insist and begin to walk.

“Sure you don’t.”

I hear him cackling at me behind my back as I hurry down towards the town. The walk feels longer than normal even though I’m taking fast, wide steps all the way there. Very few people are out when I arrive and that suits me just fine. I feel a bit like a criminal sneaking around when I walk inside the City Hall through a side entrance. I don’t want to draw a lot of attention to myself. Today is for Peeta and me and nobody else.

Once inside City Hall it takes me half an hour to get ready and I find myself feeling strangely melancholy. My mother should have been here to help me dress. My sister should have been here to wish me well. Cinna should have been here to make last minute adjustments to the dress and my prep trio should have been here to help fix my hair and put on my makeup. Heck, even Effie should have been here to make sure I stuck with the schedule. Instead I’m all alone. Not even Haymitch is here to offer some mentoring advice.

As a result of me being alone my makeup ends up very basic, which actually does suit me quite alright. I braid a string of my hair on each side of my face and tie them together with a white band at the back of my head. The hair looks okay but it’s obvious it was done by someone who doesn’t put hair care high on her list of priorities. I put on the dress and wish I knew what to do to make it fit better but in the end maybe it’s better left this way, the way Cinna originally made it, even if it does sit rather tight. I catch a glimpse in the mirror of the clock on the wall behind me and let out a nervous sigh. This is it. I’m going to be late if I stay here much longer and I don’t want to keep him waiting.

I don’t even know why I’m nervous. This is not some big shindig like they were going to throw us in the Capitol nor is it a wedding between two pretend lovers whose lives depend on them being able to give a convincing performance. It’s merely signing of papers along with one or two other traditions picked up from other districts. In an effort to create unity among the people of Panem a process of mixing wedding traditions has begun though I’m not sure which ones are in use at this time nor have I given it any real thought before this moment. Whatever it is it’s surely nothing to be nervous about. Especially since I _want_ this and I will be doing it with the man I love.

Maybe that’s why I’m feeling nervous. Because this time it’s for real. Peeta and me, binding our lives together forever. It may be a mere formality, after all I don’t think two lives can be more bound together than ours have been for some time, but it actually means something this time. Not only that but it’s a step I never ever thought I would take. The fact that I am now willing to enter a marriage has little to do with me feeling more secure about the future than I did before; it has to do with the knowledge that the things I feared about marriage are already part of my life. I never wanted to get married because I couldn’t imagine allowing myself to care that deeply about another person but it turns out I had no choice in the matter. I fought it, tooth and nail, but the power of the emotion eventually turned out to be too strong for me to fight. I know I’m forever bound to Peeta whether we are married or not. Losing him won’t devastate me any less because I don’t refer to him as my husband. There doesn’t seem to be much point in pretending otherwise.

Taking a deep, trembling breath I cast a last look at myself in the mirror. I decide I look decent enough and then I leave the room. The corridors of City Hall are empty and cold, made from stone and not exactly inviting. There are thick carpets on the floor that conceal the sound of my steps but that’s about the only thing that’s welcoming. The walls are bare right now but there have been several long discussions about decorating them with paintings. Peeta has been asked to contribute but he hasn’t agreed to it yet. They want him to paint a mural of me as the Mockingjay and that I know he won’t do. Not that he hasn’t painted me that way before but there are some things he paints for the public eye and some things he paints for only us to see.

I come around a corner and then I see him, standing outside the door to the mayor’s chambers, looking nervous as well. He’s standing straight as an arrow with his hands clasped looking very formal. He’s wearing a grey suit which might have been left over for him by Portia the same way my dress was left by Cinna. His ashen curls have been combed back from his face but other than that he doesn’t look too different than normal which I appreciate. His blue eyes meet with mine and the smile on his face lets me know he finds me beautiful.

I smile back at him, not entirely sure what to say at a moment like this. I step closer and my mouth opens, spilling out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself” he replies. “You look...”

“Yeah, you do too.”

“Ready to do this?”

“Absolutely. Together?”

“Together.”

I stop in front of him and reach for his hand. He takes it and immediately I feel much less nervous. We’ll do this together, as we’ve done everything else. Hands intertwined we turn and face the door, expecting it to open at any moment.

“Haymitch knows” Peeta tells me while we wait for the mayor to open the door and let us in.

“I know” I reply. “Did he accost you too this morning?”

“Worse. He walked me to town.”

I can’t help but giggle at the mental image that brings to mind. Peeta nervous and uncomfortable, Haymitch doling out advice on things he knows nothing about. He has a tendency to fall back into his mentoring role with us sometimes and I can’t say that I usually mind much but this is one subject he knows little to nothing about.

“Think he can keep it a secret?” I ask, looking at the door, wondering when it will open.

“Of course he can” answers Peeta. “If anybody knows what we would want for a day like today it’s Haymitch.”

The door finally opens and Mayor Wilcox welcomes us into his office. Hands still locked together we step inside and walk up to the large mahogany desk that was brought in from the Capitol just days after the City Hall building was completed. I can see the marriage license papers lying there, waiting for us. I want to sign them right away, get the moment over with. I don’t care much about _getting_ married I just want to _be_ married.

“Now, you two” says Mayor Wilcox in his booming voice. “As you are aware the process of getting married has changed a bit since before the war.”

I now learn exactly what the ceremony entails these days. First of all there needs to be a witness so the mayor’s wife joins us from another room. Then Mayor Wilcox reads a text about love and companionship that sounds rather cheesy in my ears, apparently a tradition from former District 8, and we have to recite vows to one another. The vows are simple. Joined by our hands we look into each other’s eyes and vow to always stay faithful, to always support one another, to both do our share to make a household work. We vow to stand by each other’s side whether we be rich or poor, whether we are sick or healthy and whether times are good or bad and to forsake all others until death parts us. It’s nothing we haven’t already promised one another before.

The real surprise to me comes when Mayor Wilcox asks if we want to trade rings. In the Capitol it was a very important part of the ceremonies but in the districts few people could think of anything more wasteful than spending that much money on jewellery. I didn’t know this could be included in the wedding ritual and if I had known I would have decided against it. So it comes as a shock to me when Peeta produces a small golden band and places it on my finger. I open my mouth to protest but then I see what is on the ring. It’s adorned by a small pearl, smaller than the one Peeta once gave me on the beach of the second arena and it’s shade is a bit more pink but I see the symbolism all the same. He doesn’t know I kept that pearl with me and used it as a token of him when he was lost to me, nor does he know how much it pained me when I lost it during the bombings outside of President Snow’s residence. The fact that he got me a ring with a pearl anyway means he still remembers that moment on the beach and that it holds the same symbolic value to him as it does to me. I’m stunned to silence and just stare at the ring on my finger while the mayor informs us that we won’t be assigned a house seeing as we already own two of them.

Once we have signed the papers and Wilcox has congratulated us at our new state of matrimony we leave the office with no fanfare. The moment we’re out the door I grab Peeta’s right hand with my left, holding his hand with the hand of mine that now wears his ring.

“You remember the pearl” I whisper.

He nods and smiles.

“Let’s go home and toast some bread” he says. “Then it will feel like we’re really married.”

With our free hands we push open the large doors leading out from the City Hall and to the town square. Then we both freeze. If we had any hope of keeping this day informal and personal that ship has sailed. Waiting for us out in the square is a crowd of people, most, if not all, there to catch a glimpse of us and to congratulate us. I share a shocked look with Peeta and realize that it’s not been long enough for people to forget that we were once the star-crossed lovers of District 12.

I feel mostly awkward but admittedly a little touched when people in the crowd begin to applaud us. I have no idea how any of them found out we were getting married today. Certainly it was not Haymitch who told them. It must have been Mayor Wilcox or his wife, or perhaps we weren’t quite so discreet as we thought we were.

After about fifteen seconds of applauding the crowd falls silent and instead of clapping they bring the three middle fingers of their left hands to their mouths and salute us in a gesture that has now become a sign of respect and of triumph. I laugh a little, touched by the sentiment, and share a look with my new husband. He grins back at me, looking like he too finds the moment both touching and awkward, and then we decide to give one last show for the crowds. We lean in to each other and share our first kiss as husband and wife. Behind us Mayor Wilcox’ booming voice announces us to the crowd as Mr. and Mrs. Mellark and I feel myself blushing.

Hand in hand Peeta and I then try to make our way from the town square to the path that leads home. I’m vaguely aware that we still have bags of clothes left inside the City Hall but that can wait for some other time. We can’t seem to get through the crowds however and after a few minutes we realize that there is a ride waiting for us.

It’s nothing grand and speaks far more of the old District 12 than anything we saw in the Capitol but the sentiment touches me nonetheless. Smith, one of the first farmers who came here from former District 11 to start farming the lands, is offering us a ride home on his cart. Seeing no reason not to take him up on the offer now that our cover has been so spectacularly blown anyway I take his hand and let him help me up on the back of the cart. Peeta is up there with me in a few seconds and advises me to grab on to something. At first I don’t know what he means but then the cart yanks as it begins to move and I nearly lose my balance. It feels rather silly to be standing there in a manner similar to the way we once did on the chariots before the Hunger Games but I allow it to happen and send a few smiles, waves and air-kisses to the crowds. This is not what I wanted for my wedding day but it doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would have to have the whole thing be so public. In a way it’s almost relieving to make it official right away and not have to deal with that later on.

Once we clear the town area Peeta and I sit on the back of the cart, our feet hanging over the edge, watching the town get smaller and smaller. Peeta’s hand is still in mine though now it is his left hand in my right. He gives me a look and reaches in to brush a strain of hair away from my face.

“You don’t have to, you know” he says.

“Have to what?”

“Take my name. You can still be Katniss Everdeen if you like.”

It takes me a second to formulate an answer.

“No” I then say. “I don’t want to be Katniss Everdeen anymore. I’m taking your name.”

I understand what he is trying to say when he tells me it’s okay to keep my name. It has been my identity for so long and most other things that made up my identity have been stripped from me. Yet this is one part I have no trouble letting go of. If anything I’m glad to be setting aside the name Everdeen and taking Peeta’s name in its place. Katniss Everdeen is the Mockingjay, the figurehead of the rebellion, a two time tribute in the Hunger Games. Katniss Mellark can be whoever she wants to be. The name sounds like it belongs to someone who lives in peace and tranquillity. Maybe it’s because Peeta’s name has been connected to hope for me for so long but there’s something almost cathartic about changing my name. Like I am finally done with the war and with the Hunger Games and can start to build some form of future.

Peeta doesn’t say anything else on the ride home and neither do I. We sit there in silence together, fingers intertwined, me shivering slightly in the still chilly wind. Peeta takes his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders, then takes my hand again. When we reach the former Victor’s Village farmer Smith pulls his cart to a stop and Peeta jumps down on the ground, turning around to help me get down without my dress getting dirtier than necessary. When we are both standing with our feet firmly on the ground we turn to Smith and thank him for the ride. He nods at us and heads off again, back to the other side of town where he has his farm.

It feels good to have a moment of solitude after the big hoopla at the town square. Peeta’s arms are around my waist and I wrap my hands around his neck, my fingers playing with his hair.

“So...” I begin. “We’re home.”

“Home indeed.”

We kiss and the hunger rises within me to a level it hasn’t in a while now. It’s always there though it varies in urgency and right now it’s as strong as can be. I, who never planned to get married, am now standing outside my house kissing my husband. It’s unreal to even think about it but it’s legalized now. We’re family, him and me, not just in our own eyes but in everybody else’s too.

Well, almost. There’s still one more thing left before we feel properly married. Peeta is the first to pull away from the kiss and from the embrace, taking my hand with a smile and leading me up the stairs to the front door.

“Come on” he says. “Let’s toast that bread, shall we? It’s still early, maybe we might even have time to...”

The thought dies on his lips as he opens the door and we realize it’s not just Buttercup waiting to greet us. Haymitch and Greasy Sae are there and I swear Haymitch is even completely sober. Sae has dressed up in what is probably her finest garments even though they look rather worse for wear and Haymitch has donned one of his old suits even though his gut barely fits in it anymore.

“Finally” he announces, rising from his chair with a big grin. “Since when does getting hitched take so long? Did Katniss weep too much to sign the papers properly?”

I motion my hands as if picking up a bow and shooting an arrow at him but he just laughs.

“Fine. Probably it was Peeta who wept.”

“I think _you_ were probably the one who wept since you didn’t get to be there” Peeta teases him back. “And we would have been here sooner if we hadn’t run into, oh I don’t know, everyone in town. Mayor Wilcox can’t seem to keep his big mouth shut.”

“If you two thought you were discreet about all this you thought wrong” says Sae dryly. Then she nods towards the stove. “I took over that meal you two had started preparing. It’s almost finished so come along in and have a seat.”

“Not everyone we invited are here yet” I object.

“They’re all in the dining room” says Haymitch. “Like Sae said, the pair of you are not even a little bit discreet. Hurry up and move, sweetheart, I’m starving.”

I share a perplexed look with Peeta but we obediently follow Haymitch and Sae into the dining room. There we are greeted with cheers and congratulatory wishes and more than a few jabs on how our powers of stealth have worn off over the years. I’m not sure if I should be relieved that we don’t have to make a big announcement or disappointed that we didn’t get to break the news ourselves but at least the gathering is still small and intimate. More than one person jokes that they ought to have surprised us with a huge gathering of people and the very thought makes me uncomfortable. I think back to Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta’s wedding and even though I had a lot of fun that night I remember feeling glad that I wasn’t the one at the centre of attention.

As I sit down to eat I share a warm smile with Peeta, whose hand is still in mine. Peeta grabs his glass with his free hand and holds it up to get everyone’s attention. Then he delivers a short but poignant speech in which he thanks everyone present for sharing this day with us and gets a few remarks in about formerly star-crossed lovers and what this marriage means to him, to us. I keep my eyes locked on him as he speaks, proud of having a husband who has such a way with words and quite glad that he manages to give this kind of speech without any of the overly sentimental things that tend to make me uncomfortable. When he’s finished talking I reward him with a kiss and make a mental note to reward him further later.

Dinner is eaten. Pictures are taken. There’s even a bit of dancing and Peeta manages to get Haymitch out of his chair and dancing with me. There is a lot of laughter and a lot of stories and a lot of kissing between me and my husband. It feels right. It feels good. It feels real.

 

 

Night has fallen by the time we are alone. Before everybody leaves they escort us to Peeta’s house and sign the traditional song for us as we cross the threshold. It’s fun but rather silly because once they’re done we all turn around and head back to my house since that’s where they expect us to spend the first night together. Peeta’s house has not been lived in for months and needs a bit of freshening up before we can make it our permanent residence. We decided to postpone it until after the wedding since we had so much else going on that there didn’t seem to be time for it.

It is Peeta who, once we are alone, suggests we do the toasting at his house since that is where we are going to live together. So in the dead of darkness we clean up after the small party and we turn off all the lights, then put on our coats to hurry over to the other house, hand in hand. Peeta prepares the bread while I gather some blankets on the rug in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He joins me and together we get the fire going. The house is cold and I can almost see my own breath until the fire begins to catch on. We toast the bread and eat it with newly churned butter and goat cheese, making us really and truly married. The moment is just as secluded and intimate as I had wished it would be and when it’s over we cuddle together under a thick blanket and eat some of the leftovers from the wedding cake even though we’re both quite full already.

“Here we are” I say after a while, breaking the silence that came with eating cake. “Married. Who would have ever thought?”

“Not me” says Peeta so empathetically that I know he means it.

It surprises me a little. Even though I know he spent years admiring me from afar and far too long a time knowing I had at least partially faked my affections for him in the arena I still would have thought he’d have believed we would reach this point.

I set down my spoon and stick my hand under the blanket, reaching for his hand.

“When I looked at the bread we toasted... I thought of the bread you gave me all those years ago. That night in the rain when we were eleven. Did I ever tell you that I hated you for it when we first became tributes? I thought it would take your death for me to live and the more likeable you were and the more I owed you the more difficult it became to think about your death.”

“And what about now?” he asks, looking at me.

“Now I find you even more likeable.”

He looks like he’s about to laugh but before he can do that I give him a tender kiss. When our lips part we stare into each other’s eyes while I remove a lock of his hair from his brow.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asks in a slightly hoarse whisper. “Mrs. Mellark.”

“No” I say, shaking my head.

Peeta looks a bit surprised by my answer but before he can begin to wonder why I’m not taking him up on his offer I kiss him again, more hungrily this time. With one arm wrapped around him I push him down on his back with me on top of him. My ring clad left hand finds its way underneath the blanket and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Upstairs...” I say between kisses, “is far... too far away... Don’t you agree? I’m far too... hungry for you and... you’re right here.”

 

 

Twelve years after I proposed we sit together in another chair in another house watching another fire slowly die. I’m feeling a little bit better today and my mind keeps going back to how it’s now been thirteen weeks since I first suspected I was pregnant. That’s three months of hiding monumental news from the person I’m not supposed to have any secrets from.

Peeta is completely relaxed, resting from a long day of painting a mural in the newly built library. Normally not the most strenuous work imaginable but it’s over a hundred degrees out and not much cooler inside the library building so it surprises me that he agreed to start a fire at all this evening. I rest my head on his shoulder with his arm draped around me and watch the steady rising and falling of his chest and I feel his right thumb occasionally stroke my arm. Suddenly I am overcome with a longing to not be alone with my big secret anymore. It’s been long enough. I’m more than three months pregnant and so far everything has progressed as it should. It’s time Peeta knew.

I lift my head up and look at him. He doesn’t meet my eyes at first, staring at the fire with a look like he might go to sleep down here rather than drag himself all the way upstairs to our bedroom. After about a minute he notices me looking at him and meets my eyes.

“Tired?” I ask.

“Who knew painting could be this exhausting?”

“You haven’t told me what motive you’re painting” I say. “Is it a surprise for the big opening of the library or can the wife of the painter know beforehand?”

He’s quiet for a second, as if wondering how to explain what he chose to paint.

“It took me a while to decide what to put on there” he says. “It’s a library so I felt it should be something from a book, you know? A fictional book, not those dreary history books we’ve all been forced to read at school. So I sat down the other week and looked through some of the books that have been sent here for the library. Just by reading the backs of them it’s clear we’ve missed out on a lot of good stories courtesy of the damn Capitol. Hunts for giant white sea creatures, magical rings of power, all sorts of things.”

“What did you decide on?”

“In the end I didn’t go with any of those adult oriented books... It seems to me like we’re never more hungry for stories or have a wider imagination than when we are children and so the mural in the library should be something that captivates the minds of little kids. I found a storybook for children and the one I chose for the mural is about a little girl with a red coat who goes into the woods to bring her grandmother supplies when she is sick.”

“Sounds admirable.”

“The story is far darker than it seems. She meets a wolf in the forest and he intercepts to kill both her and the grandmother.”

“You chose _that_ to inspire children? It sounds very dark and grim.”

“I chose it _because_ of that” says Peeta. “It’s a morality tale of course but the main thing is that it’s got this innocent girl put in harm’s way at a place where she feels safe. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea for kids to learn to be on their guard, you know?” He smirks. “Also I liked the visual image of the dark woods and the girl in the bright, red coat.”

“I bet people will love it” I say supportively.

“I had to put up a bit of a fight to be allowed to do it” he admits. “The library board wanted a mural aimed for adults.”

“I think your reasoning makes better sense” I say. “You always have had a way of keeping the children in mind.”

He shrugs.

“I’ve always enjoyed kids.”

I nod.

“I’m glad to know that you still do” I say. “Since you’re having one of your own.”

The look he gives me is so confused that I can’t stop myself from smiling. I reach down and grab the hand he has wrapped around me and I move it down to my stomach.

“I don’t understand” says Peeta.

“I’m pregnant” I tell him.

It takes a few seconds for it to sink in. Then he jolts up to a more straight position and looks at me with trepidation rather than the overwhelming joy I was expecting.

“Katniss...” he says carefully, talking to me like I’m a wounded animal. “I don’t know how this happened and I know you don’t want it but please... Please listen to me.”

Before he can continue I take his face between my hands and smile reassuringly.

“Peeta don’t worry. You’re going to be a father.” Slowly he begins to look more relaxed. “I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this. That’s not the plan. I know exactly how this happened; it happened because I stopped taking my pills. It’s happening because I want it to happen.” A smile begins to spread across his face. “I want to give you a baby. I’m scared but I want to be a parent with you. It’s real. It’s very much real.”

“Are... you sure?” he asks with a happy laugh.

“Yeah” I nod. “It’s why I’ve been feeling so tired and sick to my stomach these past few months. I wanted to surprise you but I was afraid of telling you too soon if things didn’t go well.”

His eyes trail down my body and stop at my stomach. His hand reaches out and caresses the spot where our baby rests. He then looks up at me, still with disbelief.

“What made you change your mind?”

“You” I say. “You did.”

“I haven’t even mentioned having children in over a year now.”

“I know” I nod. “Still I know how badly you want to have them and I am I’m willing to do it.”

He leans down and plants the most gentle kiss on my lips.

“I love you” he says. “You know that, right? I tell you that, don’t I?”

“I love you too” I answer.

“Are you really serious?” he then asks, laughing. “We’re having a baby?”

“Yeah” I nod. Then I smirk at him and give him a playful punch on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. It’s been three months of me constantly sick to my stomach and very irritable. Not to mention some other rather telling signs.”

“You’re getting better at lying” he smirks back. “You had me fooled with your weird stomach bug thing.” He kisses me again. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that it’s this instead.”

“You’d better be happy” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I can’t believe we’re having a baby” he laughs happily against my lips. Then he pulls back again. “How are _you_ feeling? Sick? Tired?”

“I’ll manage” I say, not wanting to darken his spirits with details like that. Not right now.

“We can go to the pharmacy, find something for the nausea. I want this kid, so bad, but I want you to be feeling good as well.”

“Peeta I’m fine” I say. “The nausea will go away. The rest I can live with. It’s only for a few months, anyway.”

The smile on his face grows wider than I ever thought possible.

“And then we’ll have a child” he says. “A little us. Can you even imagine it?”

“No” I say honestly.

“A little kid... A little boy or girl.”

“A boy, I think” I say. For some reason when I picture us with a kid it’s always a boy. A little version of Peeta, but one who is safe and sound and who will never have to experience the horrors his father has known. Someone I could protect where I failed to protect Peeta.

“You hope it’s a boy?” smiles Peeta.

“I _think_ it’s a boy.” In a way it is weird to even speculate when there are no signs that point more to one or the other. “I mean... That’s what I picture. Though what do I know?”

“We can find out” says Peeta. “If you’d like.”

The thought has crossed my mind on occasion. After the war a large medical station, a hospital really, was set up in town and after a couple of years they brought in sonograms. A lot of women like to get ultrasounds when they are pregnant but I can’t see much purpose to it. They say they get them to tell if the baby is healthy but I worry that it might be bad for the baby to expose it to the sonogram. The other reason they get ultrasounds is to find out the sex of the child but I see no point in that either since we’ll find out when the baby comes.

“No” I tell Peeta. “Let’s be surprised. It’s not like it matters or like we can do much about it either way. We’re having what we’re having.”

“A baby” he says, brimming with happiness. “I cannot believe it... We’re having a baby. And you’re right, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. So long as it’s ours, what else matters?”

“That it’s safe” I point out. “That it’s _healthy_. That it’s happy.”

“It will be” assures Peeta. “He or she is going to be the safest, healthiest, happiest kid who ever lived in former District 12.”

He kisses me again, this time long and lingering. We part for air and then kiss again. This time I can feel something else in his kiss, something I know very well. When our lips part he looks at me with excitement and lust.

“Peeta...” I say softly.

“How _are_ you feeling?” he asks, voice a touch hoarse. “Well enough to come with me upstairs and... properly celebrate?”

Poor Peeta. I feel bad for him. He was a perfect gentleman for a long time when we were teenagers, spending many nights sleeping tightly with me yet never pressing his advantages. Once our relationship evolved and we became lovers, both emotionally and physically, he’s been anything but chaste. We have enjoyed an active sexlife during our fifteen years together. There have been occasional dry spells but for the most part we’ve both had strong urges and made sure to keep each other satisfied. During the past three months however I’ve been anything but enthused about sex. It’s hard to feel aroused when you’re nauseous and uncomfortable, not to mention hiding a huge secret from your husband. Peeta has accepted my lack of interest without complaint, probably thinking it’s the made-up stomach bug that has caused it, but I know it’s been difficult for him.

I want to give him what he desires, especially when we’re having a milestone moment in our marriage. Still, I’m not exactly enthused by the idea of a long, passionate romp between the sheets. I don’t think my stomach can handle it.

“Peeta...” I begin, but the look on his face makes it hard to say no, even though I know he would understand. “Let’s go upstairs” I say instead. “Just... Let’s try and not be too... I mean, the more still I could be, the better. Since my stomach is not quite fine yet.”

“We don’t have to, Katniss.”

“Come on” I say, standing up and taking his hand to pull him out of the chair. “You’re right, we should celebrate.”

He needs it, I can tell. There’s a part of me that really wants it, too. I miss that intimacy between us when we go too long without. Not just for the pleasure but for the emotional connection and the physical closeness. I never can get quite enough of his body close to mine, never fully satiate that hunger. Besides, he hasn’t gotten much over the last three months. It’s bound to not last very long tonight.

Before we head upstairs we turn off all the lights and put the fire out. We take our time, even though I know Peeta wants to be under the covers as soon as possible, and go through our normal nightly routine before getting into bed. We brush our teeth, Peeta opens a window, his prosthetic is taken off and put by the side of the bed. He’s in bed before I am since I decide to put my hair up in a braid first and it takes me a little while to comb through all the tangles. Once I’m done I join him in the bedroom and begin to undress. I stop when I’ve lifted my top over my head, noticing Peeta’s fascination as he eyes my stomach.

“I can’t grasp it” he says with awe.

I step closer and he scoots over to the edge of the bed. I’m glad that he is so excited but his happiness is not enough to overcome the unsettling worry that is still over me. In a way it’s become even more real now that Peeta knows, now that it’s been spoken out loud. Until tonight it was my secret but now it’s an acknowledged fact: We’re having a baby.

I stand by the side of the bed, resting my hands on Peeta’s shoulders while he gently caresses my stomach and admires it with an amazed expression on his face. There’s not much to caress. No beginnings of a baby bump. If anything I’m thinner than I was three months ago thanks to the lack of appetite and the vomiting. Yet Peeta caresses me like I have a huge pregnant belly. He keeps it up for so long that I almost begin to think he has forgotten about his previous desires.

“You look so beautiful” he murmurs.

“I look the same” I point out.

“No” says Peeta, and I pray he won’t start waxing about how I have a ‘glow’ about me. He doesn’t. He just slides his hands further down and unbuttons my pants. I let him pull them down below my hips and then I step out of them, letting them lie where they fall. Peeta moves back on the bed and invites me in with him. I climb up and into his welcoming arms, the nausea having faded a little bit. We kiss and the feeling of dread that came over me when he touched my stomach vanishes. This feels right. Him and me, sharing this information. We’re going to be parents. Peeta knows, and I’m no longer dealing with it all alone.

Maybe that’s a reason why I’ve felt so desolate at times, these past months. I haven’t carried any burden on my own since forever. Peeta has always carried my burdens with me, same as I have helped him carry his. We’ve long since stopped dealing with hardships on our own. We protect each other, carry each other and comfort each other.

I’ve been alone in this pregnancy for three months. Now Peeta knows and we’re going to go through the rest of it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not going to get this fluffy in any of the future chapters, I promise. My excuse is that this was the wedding chapter so it ought to have been at least a little mushy. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know your thoughts.


	4. Greasy Sae

Four months in I could almost have forgotten there was a baby on the way if it wasn’t for the persistent nausea. It’s still too early for me to feel the foetus moving inside of me and I so rarely pay attention to the shape of my body anymore that I don’t realize my midsection has begun to swell until the day comes, halfway through my fourth month, when I can’t fit in my pants anymore. I stare down at my belly with bewilderment, not sure what to make of it. I don’t _feel_ particularly pregnant. Not that I know what it ought to feel like but there’s no part of me currently comprehending the fact that there is a new life growing inside of me. I grasp the fact that my body is changing but not the true reason why. My breasts, which have been tender off and on since the pregnancy began, are swelling. My mood is starting to shift and yesterday when I saw a mother deer with a foal I actually started to cry, something I hated myself for once I had come to my senses. I’m more tired than I usually am and the bad dreams seem to come more often now than in the past five years. Even so it hasn’t begun to make sense to me yet that the cause of all this is a new life. Since the baby has been so tiny inside of me for four months now I’m not prepared when it begins to grow this big.

As I eye my own midsection with slight bewilderment a thought occurs to me. My belly is going to grow. Not just a little bit but to a size that seems incomprehensible to me at the moment. Across my stomach runs thin, white scars separating what is left of my own original skin from the grafted skin I received in the Capitol. A gnawing thought begins to enter my mind. Will the grafted skin follow the lead of my natural skin and stretch gradually over these next months? Or does it not possess that ability at all? After all, unlike when I had won the 74th Games I was not a priority to the doctors after the bombing and I doubt they took much care to give me perfect skin grafts.

I force the thought from my mind. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway. I just have to wait and see what will happen and be grateful that I have a husband who won’t care if my body looks even worse after the pregnancy is over.

“I can’t say that I blame you” says Peeta, walking in to the bedroom with a smirk on his face. “I spend a lot of time looking at your midsection, too.”

“I need new clothes” I mutter, pulling my shirt down to cover my belly and kicking the pants to the side. “For now I’ll use something of yours.”

The thought of spending money on new clothes irks me, at least when the clothes in question will only be worn for a brief period of time. The days when I enjoyed dressing up in fancy clothes from the Capitol are long gone and I only spend money on new garments once or twice a year. Then a thought occurs to me and I frown even deeper.

“I’m going to have to stop wearing pants” I say in a sullen voice.

“How so?” questions Peeta, tossing me a pair of his.

“If my stomach keeps expanding any pants I buy I will grow out of before long.”

“There are elastics, you know” he points out dryly. “Or get pairs that are too big and use a belt. It’s not advanced science, Katniss.”

I’m not in a good mood and ignore his comment as I step into his clothes. They’re too big but if I wear them with a belt they should work, which irks me because of what he just said.

“I’m going to have to go hunting in a stupid dress” I mutter.

“Hunting?” echoes Peeta, eyebrows raised.

“What?” I snarl.

“Nothing, just... You really think you’re going to be doing much hunting when the pregnancy starts to become more pronounced? You won’t be as agile as you’re used to and frankly I’m not comfortable with the idea of my pregnant wife running around in the wilderness with a bunch of wild animals and... tree stumps to trip over and stuff.”

The realization hits me like a bucket of cold water and I sink down on the bed, feeling like gagging and crying at the same time.

“Oh God...” I say. “Once I get too pregnant to hunt that means months without going into the forest... Who knows how long it will be after the kid is born before I can head out?”

“You’re only realizing this _now_?” asks Peeta, sounding amused.

“I don’t know why you find this funny” I snarl. “It’s not like you bring home any literal bacon. You’re going to be stuck eating whatever we can buy or trade until I can go hunting again and we both know that traded stuff and butcher meat isn’t half as good as the game I bring home. And this is _your_ child causing this.”

“Katniss I don’t mind being without your game for a few months” says Peeta. “Not for this reason. Besides, the meat from the butcher isn’t bad.”

“Peeta I’m a hunter!” I say angrily. “I hunt! That’s what I do! What the hell am I supposed to do with myself for months on end if I can’t go hunting?”

“Taking care of an infant, for one” he answers calmly. “I think that will take up a lot of time for the both of us. You can still go out in the woods for a few more weeks so make the most of it. After that and until the baby comes why don’t you use that time to rest and prepare for our new family member? Or work on that hunting book you’ve been talking about since forever? You’ll figure out something to do. And as for your clothes, why don’t we head into town and see if we can buy you a pair of maternity pants?”

I groan and rise reluctantly. Most of all I’d like to go to the drug store and order pills that relieve nausea but I’m too afraid to take anything that might harm the baby. In lieu of better options I agree to go clothes shopping but if that’s what we’ll be doing then I can’t be wearing Peeta’s pants. They’re good enough for a day out in the forest but they don’t fit me well enough that I would feel comfortable wearing them in town. I walk to the closet and grab a skirt I can pull up over the bump. It feels like such a waste to spend the day in town now that my days in the woods are numbered but I do need something more maternity appropriate to wear.

 

 

I walk inside the clothes store owned by a former District 8 family and feel the faint scent of fresh linen. Neither Peeta nor I come here very often which makes us a rarity around these parts. Once people began to have more money there was a growing interest in clothing and fashion. Nothing anywhere near as crazy as what we used to see in the Capitol but definitely fancier than the kind of clothes people in District 12 used to dress in. Peeta and myself still had a lot of clothes left in our closets when we came back to our houses after the war and truthfully neither one of us has changed much in size since then. Naturally we have worn out most of the clothes we had fifteen years ago but the urge to keep our closets filled with the latest fashions has never gotten us, maybe because we associate it with being victors of the 74th Games and with memories of Portia and Cinna. We buy new things every once in a while but are just as happy dressing in shirts or pants that have been worn for months or years.

I am alone in the store when I first step inside. Peeta came into town with me but had an errand to run first. He needs some new brushes so he went off to get those while I get a head start on finding new clothes. Only I’m not so comfortable shopping for this purpose. Maternity wear is something I never thought I would ever have to put on so I’m at a complete loss for what to get.

As I walk slowly down one of the seven aisles of clothes I hear a noise coming from the room behind the checkout counter. Children’s voices and thumping feet. A few seconds later a boy at around five years of age comes running out from behind the counter, apparently playing tag or something similar with his siblings. He is one of the seamstress’ children and I know him by appearance even if I can’t ever seem to recall his name. He comes running around the corner and almost collides with me before he notices me. Then he stops, places his hands at the small of his back and looks up at me in his best attempt to be well-mannered.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Mellark” he says politely.

“Good day to you” I reply with a smile.

Behind me a bell rings as the door opens. At the same time the boy’s two siblings come running out from behind the counter in search of their brother. All three of them spot Peeta as he’s walking in and before he can even locate me in the store he is surrounded by the trio of children, all excitedly jumping up and down around him.

“Mr. Mellark, Mr. Mellark!” they cry in chorus.

I watch with a smile on my face as Peeta greets them all by name and tousles the youngest boy’s hair. When they realize that the baker has not brought any cookies for them they immediately lose interest and continue on with their games. Peeta spots me and sends me a smile before he walks over to the aisle with men’s clothes. He’s looking for a new jacket and I leave him to his own devices while I slowly make my way through the store looking for clothes for myself.

After about ten minutes the seamstress, Mrs. Cobble, has gathered her playing children and sent them into the back room, turning her focus to me instead. I’m busy studying a blue cotton dress and don’t hear her approaching.

“Oh, no Mrs. Mellark” she says, her voice startling me a bit. “You’re in the wrong section, dear. These are maternity clothes.”

I look at her without uttering a syllable, so taken aback by her immediate assumption that I’ve wandered off into the wrong section. I’m wearing a rather lumpy shirt so the slight bump on my belly is not clearly visible but still it feels like a bit of an insult. I should correct her and tell her that I am in the exact right section and then ask her what I should consider when I get my maternity wear but I’m suddenly not comfortable publically announcing my condition. Without a word I hang the dress back where I found it and allow Mrs. Cobble to take me by the arm and lead me over to another section of the store. I catch the inquiring look Peeta gives me but the look on my face must be rather intimidating because he doesn’t say anything and goes back to looking at jackets.

I stay almost entirely quiet until Peeta and I leave the store fifteen minutes later. Then I find my words and sputter and hiss like an angry cat as I yank up the door to the passenger seat of our two-seat car.

“Can you believe that?” I snarl. “Telling me I’m in the wrong part of the store! What kind of an idiot does she take me for?”

Peeta calmly gets in behind the wheel and puts his two bags in the tiny compartment behind the seats. He doesn’t seem the least bit phased by Mrs. Cobble or by my anger.

“You don’t look pregnant” he points out and puts the key in the ignition.

“That is not the point!” I argue. “Even women who don’t yet _look_ pregnant still need to buy maternity clothes!”

“Which you should have done, Katniss. It’s why we went in to town in the first place.”

“Forget it. I can wait another couple of days. I hate the way she said it, like she automatically assumes that I could never be pregnant. Like if it were _you_ browsing in that section.”

“We’ve been married twelve years Katniss, almost to the date” Peeta points out, turning the steering wheel to head us home. “Most people probably assume we never intend to have children, or that we can’t.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“People will find out soon enough” he shrugs.

“No, I mean how the idea of us having a child is completely unimaginable to them.”

“It’s one person, Katniss” Peeta points out.

“It’s not going to be just her.”

“It doesn’t matter” he shrugs. “What does matter is when you let it get to you. You do need to go in there and buy maternity wear eventually. You realize that, right?”

“Not at that store” I sulk. There are two other clothes store in town, though Mrs. Cobble’s is the one in highest regard and the other two are further away.

“I don’t get why this bugs you so much” says Peeta. “She didn’t think you were pregnant, what of it? It’s nobody’s business but ours, anyway.”

“I can’t explain it” I sigh. “I just... It feels insulting, okay?”

Peeta refrains from further comment and I stay silent as well. There are some things I just can’t explain to him and this is one of them. I stare out the window at the passing houses and the people walking about and force myself not to sigh out loud. I’ve wasted several hours of the day going in to town and Mrs. Cobble’s store, hours I could have spent out in the forest, and with nothing to show for it. What’s even worse is I will have to throw away another perfectly good hunting day by going back into town and buying those damn maternity clothes that I didn’t get today. I don’t want to waste whatever precious time I have left out in the woods before I become too pregnant to be out there. I know the thought is ridiculous. There are bound to be days with bad weather when I wouldn’t have gone out hunting anyway. Still it bothers me and I can’t seem to shake it. Just like I can’t seem to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We reach the Victors’ Village and pull up on our driveway. I cast a glance over at Haymitch’s house to see if he is out tending to his geese but there’s no sight of him. I open the car door and step out, leaving the bags to Peeta. The nausea is back and I long to be inside nibbling on one of Peeta’s biscuits. I feel worse on an empty stomach and I’ve found that the biscuits are among the easiest things for me to eat when the nausea is bad.

When I step inside the house I toss my keys on the dresser and kick off my shoes before walking inside the kitchen. A basket sits on the kitchen island and when I lift aside the towel covering it I’m pleased to find it full of the biscuits I’m eager for. Peeta usually keeps the basket stocked for me, just another one of his tokens of affection and concern. I’m so emotional these days that it sometimes brings tears to my eyes. Today it doesn’t have that effect but it does mellow me somewhat. I take a seat on one of the high stools and grab a handful of biscuits to stuff myself with.

“If you’re not going into the woods today then perhaps you can help me sort through this” says Peeta, tossing me a box as he walks inside the kitchen.

“What is it?” I ask, studying it with vague interest.

“Lola gave it to me” says Peeta, setting his bags down on the counter. Lola is Greasy Sae’s daughter and together with her husband she runs the store where Peeta buys his painting supplies.

“Uh-huh” I say, giving it a little shake. It rattles a bit. “What’s in it then?”

“Photographs” answers Peeta. He fishes out a new set of brushes from one of the bags, followed by some tubes of paint. “She’s been going through all of old Sae’s stuff, years too late if you ask me, and she thought we might like to have these.”

Greasy Sae died four years ago and left a bigger void behind than I had expected. She wasn’t in our lives on a daily basis but nonetheless she was a constant presence, helping us out when we needed a hand, showing up at special occasions and, for me more than Peeta, offering a link to the life that was before the 74th Hunger Games.

By the time of her death she was the undisputed matriarch of her family, which included three children and seven grandchildren. Her daughter Lola has begun to take over her mother’s role but it’s not the same and never will be. I rarely see Lola, finding it too difficult to talk to her now, but Peeta never seems to have any problem talking to her. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t as close to Greasy Sae as I was or maybe it’s just his personality. I know he’s sometimes spent an hour or more supporting Lola through her grief when what he really came into the store to do was buy painting supplies. In the past four years whenever he’s gone into town and been away for longer than he should I’ve known he’s been with her.

I set the box down on the kitchen island and open the lid with one hand, using the other to grab some more biscuits. Inside there’s indeed a bunch of photographs, the top one taken at mine and Peeta’s wedding dinner. My chewing slows almost to the point of stopping and I stare at the picture for a moment. I’ve seen a number of photographs taken that day but not this particular one. I didn’t even know Greasy Sae had brought a camera, or that she even _owned_ one at that time. Maybe she got the picture from one of the other guests. However she came to have it, it is now in this box. Me and Peeta, just married, sitting at the table smiling widely at each other. My eyes fall on our hands, his resting on the table and mine resting on top of his with the ring clearly visible. It brings a lump to my throat.

“What is it?” asks Peeta, coming up to look over my shoulder. “Wow... I’ve never seen this picture before.” He lifts it up from the box and studies it. “Lola told me these were all pictures we might find interesting. Said they were more ours than hers or even Sae’s. Guess she was right.”

He hands me the picture and walks back to the counter to unpack the rest of his bags.

“You’re not going to look at the rest of them?” I ask.

“Eventually. You go ahead if you want to. I’ve got to unpack the rest of this and then I have to get started on the wedding cake.”

“What wedding cake?” I ask, feeling more sick to my stomach at the mention.

“The cobbler’s son and his fiancée” Peeta reminds me patiently and I vaguely recall having heard him mention it before. “Wedding’s tomorrow. Which reminds me, I need to set the alarm early so I can have it decorated in time.”

He brings out his pots and pans and then leaves to go change into the clothes he wears when he’s working. I stay put, chewing on biscuits and studying the picture from our wedding. It seems so long ago. It _was_ long ago. I can’t believe it’s been twelve years. Almost to the date, as Peeta pointed out. Next week will be our twelfth anniversary. We look so young in the photograph and so very happy. I have never regretted getting married, not for a second, not even when things have been hard. Hopefully I will look back in another twelve years’ time and know that I never regretted having children.

 

 

I end up not looking at the pictures right away. Instead I go upstairs and lie down, escaping from the smells of Peeta’s baking which are repulsive to me right now even though I normally love it. In the evening I go and get the box and bring it with me to the living room. Peeta is there, sitting in his favourite armchair with his sketchpad and a pencil. He’s got a content smile on his face and whatever he’s working on is probably a labour of love yet I hope I can get him to put the pad aside and come look at the photographs with me. It’s a pretty safe bet that they’re all pictures of us and I would feel better looking at them with him.

“What are you working on?” I ask.

“You... and the baby...”

I walk over to him and lean down to get a better look. I have seen him draw pictures of me and toddlers and me and older children, though I know he never meant for me to see them. This is the first time I’ve seen him draw me with an infant. The drawing is far from finished but I can clearly see myself cradling a little bundle with a smile of motherly love on my face.

“Looks good” I manage.

“Not as good as the ones I’ll draw with the two of you as models” he smiles.

“Do you have a minute?” I ask. “Or do you want to work on that until it’s done?”

“It can wait” says Peeta, putting the pad down on the small table beside his chair. “Have a seat. I always have time, and room, for wife and child.”

I somewhat clumsily take a seat next to him in the chair even though there’s not really room for me there. I throw my legs over Peeta’s lap and place the box in my own.

“I thought we could look at the pictures” I tell him.

“Okay” he nods.

He opens the lid and hands me the pictures. I wrap one arm around his shoulders and lean closer so that we’re cheek to cheek. Then I put the picture from our wedding down in the box and hand him the next one in the bunch. He holds it up so that we both can take a look.

“Another wedding photo” he says. “Wonder if they all are.”

This one I recognize. It shows us talking to Haymitch, Peeta standing behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. Greasy Sae gave me a copy of the picture to put up in Haymitch’s house when I decided his walls needed some decorations. It hangs in the upstairs hallway and I wonder if he ever bothers to look at it.

What follows is a collection of photographs of Peeta and me, sometimes together and sometimes not. The pictures span a timeframe from our wedding until a couple of years before Sae’s death and some are familiar to me while others are new. There are pictures of us at the harvest feast, at private parties and at random occasions. One in particular stirs a reaction in me and I tell Peeta to wait a moment and not put it aside yet.

“Why on earth would she want us to have this picture?” I wonder.

“Probably too painful for her to keep” suggests Peeta.

I nod slowly. That must be it. The picture is at least ten years old, if not more, and shows Peeta playing with Bobbie, Lola’s daughter. I confess I don’t remember much about the girl, least of all the circumstances during which this picture was taken. What I do remember vividly however is her funeral. She died at age four from a previously unknown heart condition. Just gone, from one day to the next. Greasy Sae was terribly upset and as far as I can recall the reason we went to the funeral was to show our support to her.

“Get rid of it” I say.

“Get rid of it?” echoes Peeta. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a picture of a dead child. I don’t want it anywhere near me.”

He lets it drop down on the floor where I can’t see it but I would have rather he tore it up. The memory of the four year-old girl and the funeral we went to has made me completely lose interest in looking at the rest of the photographs. I toss them back into the box and get up as quickly as I can, then I walk over to the fireplace and put the box down on the mantelpiece.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks Peeta.

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

My hand goes to my stomach and the bump that is beginning to form there.

“Positive. I’m going to go make some tea.”

I walk past him into the kitchen and grab the teapot from its place on the shelf beside the stove. I can’t seem to get that picture out of my mind. Peeta and that little girl, a girl who only got to live for four years and who died unexpectedly. There was no war, no Hunger Games, no evil from the Capitol that took her life. Nor did she die of starvation – while she was certainly hungry at times she had enough to eat for the most part and looked healthy. Her death came out of nowhere, a complete surprise to her family.

“What happened to Bobbie was... a terrible amount of bad luck” says Peeta.

I turn around and look at him. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn’t hear him come into the kitchen.

“Meaning what?”

He walks over and opens a cabinet next to the stove to take out some crackers to go with the tea. He sets the cracker box down on the counter before he answers.

“Meaning that nothing is ever for certain. But it takes one hell of a dose of bad luck to lose a kid like what happened with Bobbie.”

“Do you think that makes Lola and her husband feel better?” I ask dryly.

“No. But it should make _you_ feel better. What are the chances that the same thing would happen to our child?”

“That’s not what I was thinking” I lie, but it’s a weak lie. I don’t want to talk about this any further and I wish he would drop the subject.

“Tea s ready” says Peeta and for a moment I think he really is going to drop it. Then he continues talking. “I’m surprised you even remember Bobbie well enough to recognise her off of just one photograph.”

He puts the crackers on a tray together with some cheese and grapes and takes it with him to the living room. I stand frozen for a minute, puzzled by what I just heard him say. Then I remove the teapot and walk over to grab some mugs. Does he think I have forgotten about that girl? I may not have known her well when she lived but her death has haunted me for years. Or, to be fair, her funeral.

I arrange a tray with tea mugs and a couple of sugar lumps for myself and walk back to the living room. Peeta is busy flipping through the channels on the TV and I sit down next to him without saying anything.

Does he not remember how that funeral affected me, or the things we talked about that day?

 

 

As life begins to rebuild and reform in the former District 12 it becomes very clear to me that while people still greatly admire me for having been the Mockingjay and for being a two-time survivor of the Hunger Games, I am not exactly _loved_ by them. Peeta is, and it’s neither surprising nor upsetting to me. He has always had an easy way about him, always had a lot of friends and been kind and warm towards those that he meets. I, on the other hand, have built walls to protect myself and they did not get smaller after the war. I’m not unfriendly or cold but I’m just not as approachable as my partner. Whenever we are together among other people he is the one who talks more, asks more questions, gives a friendlier impression. I don’t approach people unless I have a specific errand in mind and I’m fine with people not coming up to me just to start casual conversation. Peeta and I both hold a great deal of respect and admiration from the people around us but most of them prefer him to me and I can’t say that I mind or that I blame them. If anything I am proud that people find him so kind-hearted and friendly.

It’s not just adults who like him. He’s kind to the children, takes the time to stop and talk to them and on rare occasions gives them cookies. That’s all they seem to need to adore him and I can tell that he enjoys the attention they give to him. We never talk about it and he never makes a point of it but I would be a fool not to see what lies beneath it. He wants children of his own but since he can’t have any he’ll settle for being well liked by other people’s kids.

It’s almost a year into our marriage when I start to consider changing my mind. It happens gradually, slowly. I see my husband with other people’s children, see how much he enjoys playing with them and how much he longs to have kids of his own. On a few occasions I have found drawings of his that depict him or me with a child and I know he never meant for me to see these drawings. They aren’t drawn to persuade me or make me feel guilty for denying him kids. They are Peeta’s only way of having children and I can’t very well deny him that. He doesn’t nag me, doesn’t try to change my mind or make me feel guilty for having made up my mind so firmly and thereby made up both our minds. He accepts that I don’t want children even though I know it pains him.

After our wedding I have begun to feel safer. Slowly and steadily, with the war behind us and the former district rising from destruction and poverty life now seems different. There are options that were never available when we grew up. The children we see on the streets and the children I see Peeta with, they are all well-fed and happy. There are no Hunger Games looming over them, no reaping to fear when they turn twelve.

I say nothing to Peeta about my thoughts on the subject. I haven’t made up my mind yet, only begun to toy with the idea of children but that in itself is a much greater step towards parenthood than I ever thought I would take. I’m still leaning more towards not having kids and for that reason I decide it’s better not to tell him what I’m thinking since he might start hoping and I might end up having to crush those hopes rather cruelly. But little by little I start being able to imagine us with children and thinking that perhaps the world has changed enough for me to re-evaluate my previous stance.

This all comes to an abrupt end when we learn from a neighbour that Greasy Sae’s four year-old granddaughter has died unexpectedly. At hearing the news Peeta and I both react in the ways that are typical for us, meaning he thinks of others and I think of myself. Peeta rushes to get our hats and gloves for the walk into town, saying that we need to go see Sae to offer our condolences and see if there’s anything she needs. I remain standing in the same spot I stood when I heard the news, shivering in my winter coat, feeling bile rising in my throat. Little Bobbie was no less healthy than any other child in town, not outwardly at least, and she was well-fed and living in times of peace. Death had struck her anyway, proving once and for all that nobody could ever be safe. I barely even react when Peeta comes back out and hands me my gloves and hat. He begins to walk towards town and has to turn around and call out to me to get my attention.

We sit with Greasy Sae that day and I haven’t got the faintest idea how I make it through. Her grief reminds me far too much of how I lost my sister and that is a pain I cannot bear to think about. There has been too much death in my life and especially children should be safe from it now that all the threats we grew up with are gone. Yet here we are, supporting a grieving grandmother. The only reason I manage to stay and not run as far away as I can is the memory of everything Greasy Sae has done for me and how well she took care of me when I first returned after the war.

It is Peeta who takes care of Sae, not me. I can manage to stay near and not run but I cannot bring myself to comfort and console. I have to keep some distance between myself and the horrible situation or I won’t be able to take it. Thankfully I have Peeta and he seems to know exactly what to say and do at times like these. He sits with Sae and listens to her talk about her grandchild, holds her hand and wipes her tears with a handkerchief. He sends the neighbour’s son over to Lola to see if she needs anything and if she wants her mother to come. He throws together a meal for the three of us. I seriously don’t know how he does it and it’s almost fascinating to watch him in action.

“So little, she was” says Sae, her tears beginning anew.

I look around, helplessly. Peeta is in the kitchen and Lola is supposedly on her way over but until she arrives there’s just me there. I know I need to be there for Sae now but it’s almost a physical impossibility to even step closer to her. Somehow I manage to leave my spot by the bookshelf but I don’t make it to the couch and the spot Peeta has been sitting in for the past few hours. Instead I take a seat in an armchair across the table from where Greasy Sae is sitting.

“I saw her just the other day” says Sae for the fifth time today. “She came over to play with the kittens. She was just fine, then. So full of life.”

“I’m so sorry” is all I can manage to say.

“It’s not right” says Greasy Sae. “It’s not right that little children should die so suddenly while old wretches like me linger on.”

“It’s never those who deserve to die that do” I mumble, thinking back on all the people who are dead because of me.

“The sweet, poor child...”

I don’t remember ever hearing Greasy Sae talk like this, about anyone. Then again she’s never lost a child or a grandchild before. The very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. Even with all the losses I have experienced can there be anything that compares to losing your own offspring?

We stay with Sae until Lola arrives, even more of a wreck than her mother. It only takes about ten seconds of seeing the distraught mother and watching her seek comfort in her own mother’s embrace for me to know that this is more than I can handle, no matter what I owe Greasy Sae. Thankfully Peeta chooses this moment to gently take me by the arm.

“I think we ought to leave” he says in my ear. “They need some time to themselves. We shouldn’t intrude on their family.”

Leaving sounds like sweet music to my ears. We bid a brief farewell of Greasy Sae and Lola and then hurry out into the cold winter evening. I pull my hat down to cover my ears and shiver in the slight wind. I wish I had a scarf to wrap around me but Peeta didn’t grab one for me and the thought of needing one later in the day didn’t even occur to me before we left home.

Peeta wraps an arm around my waist and we begin to walk back towards the Victor’s Village. It’s pitch black out but the snow helps bring a little bit of lightness. It’s quite a few degrees below freezing and I can see my own breath with every exhale. It’s not a very cheerful evening to be out walking and it rather fits the mood of the day we’ve had.

“It’s just terrible” says Peeta sombrely.

“Awful” I agree, shivering a bit.

I’m grateful for his arm around me and his side pressing against me as we walk briskly through the dark and quiet town. The street lights are all on, a luxury we rarely if ever had here before the war, and most windows we pass are lit up by warm lamplight yet the road in front of us is mostly dark and I know it will only get darker the last couple of miles before we reach the Victor’s Village. I wish we were home, that we never had to venture out the door today. I long for a soft blanket by the fireside, Peeta’s warm cheese buns and Buttercup’s content purring. I don’t want to think about death anymore today but I know that it’s inevitable.

“Are you thinking about Prim?” asks Peeta after a few minutes.

“Yeah” I say. Prim, and everyone else I care about who died far too young.

Peeta draws a breath and exhales heavily.

“Yeah, I know. While we were there, with Greasy Sae, I was so focused on her. Now that we’re not my mind keeps going to those _I_ ’ _ve_ lost.”

He pulls his arm back from around my waist and instead his hand finds its way into mine. We continue our walk back home and it takes me almost ten minutes to realize that he just brought up his family, which he rarely ever talks about. Or, at least I think that’s what he brought up. At the top of my head I can’t think of anyone else he’s lost that he would be thinking about on a night like this.

“Peeta?” I begin but it seems that if there was a window to breach the subject and ask that window has now closed.

“We should hurry up and get home” he says. “I’m freezing.”

“Yeah” I nod. “It’s getting colder, I think.”

Not much else is said between us for the duration of the walk home. Once we arrive at the Victor’s Village I almost hesitate to go inside, even though I was aching to get home just a minute ago. Our house is the only inhabited one where no lights are on and it looks cold and unwelcoming. I let go of Peeta’s hand and stop beneath the porch steps, letting him go ahead of me. He unlocks the door, hurries inside and flickers the lights on.

“Katniss?” he says. “Are you coming?”

I slowly walk the steps up to the front door and once I’m inside close the door firmly behind me. The house looks abandoned, which it kind of is seeing as how we were only going for a short walk when we heard the news and after that we rushed off. Ever since the war I have hated coming home after dark unless Peeta is already home or we left the lights on. There’s something about walking inside a cold, dark house that unsettles me. I take my good time undressing, hoping that Peeta will go around and turn on the lights and make the place feel more like home. I can hear him in the kitchen, talking to an angrily meowing Buttercup. The cat’s probably livid since he’s been indoors all afternoon and nobody has fed him.

“Alright, alright” sighs Peeta as I walk into the kitchen. Buttercup is on his hind legs, clawing eagerly on Peeta’s thigh, meowing non-stop. “Calm down, I’ll feed you.”

I walk over and lift the cat up into my arms, earning me a hiss.

“Calm down” I tell Buttercup. “Stop pestering him and he’ll have your dinner ready much sooner. What have you done today anyway to earn a meal?”

Peeta finds one of the cans of cat food that we keep in the kitchen for the days when the weather is too cold or too bad to let Buttercup out to hunt his own food. Most of the time we feed him entrails from the game I bring home and various leftovers from our own dinners but we ate at Sae’s tonight and neither Peeta nor I am in the mood for preparing more food.

“Here you go, you lousy old cat” sighs Peeta, setting a bowl filled to the brim down on the floor. “Enjoy.”

I set Buttercup down on the floor and he runs over to the bowl, gulping down food like he hasn’t seen it in weeks. I snort at him. We fed him this morning and he’s been without food for longer than a day in the past. Like everyone else he had to occasionally starve back when we lived in the Seam. Then again maybe that’s why he’s so reluctant to miss a meal now.

I walk into the living room and kneel by the fireplace to start a fire. The house is chilly and I always feel more at home with a fire burning. I grab a couple of logs and get to work while Peeta walks in and sits down in his favourite chair. Once I have the fire going I turn around and I find him hunched over with his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his knuckles. The expression on his face is grim and reflects what I’m feeling. I stand up and walk over, feeling a touch better when he looks up and opens his arms to wrap around me. I stand in front of him, embracing him and resting my chin on his blond curls.

It feels good to have him close. I need the reassurance of his presence. Even though I barely knew the child who died there are a few too many unpleasant memories stirred today.

 

 

A week later we attend Bobbie’s funeral and it is another huge trial for me. Memories of Prim keep coming to me. She never got a proper funeral, buried in a mass grave with the other victims of the bombing. There was just not enough left of most of the victims for identification to be possible, at least not under the circumstances. Perhaps if there hadn’t been such matters as finding a president of Panem or dealing with war criminals... Maybe then Prim’s body could have been returned to us and she could have been laid to rest next to our father.

I think of Prim but I also think of a few others. Brave Rue, so young when the Capitol claimed her life for the sake of entertainment. At least she got to be buried by her family and I got to give her a funeral of sorts in the arena. The faces of other dead tributes flash before my eyes. Foxface. Thresh. The boy from District 3 who got his neck snapped by Cato.

I spend most of the funeral service lost in my own thoughts and hardly paying attention. Funerals in former District 12 are short and simple and they end with a procession to the grave site where the casket is lowered into the ground. In the winter things work a little bit different as it’s very hard to dig a grave when the ground is frozen and covered in snow. The actual burial of the body then takes place later, in spring, but the site of the grave has been selected and the procession walks there together as if they were to witness the burial. The last part of the funeral process is allowing people to say their final goodbyes. I have always hated that part the most. Watching others grieve gets to me and I never know what I’m supposed to say or do. I’m very grateful to have Peeta standing next to me, both for the moral support and for the knowledge that he will know exactly what to say. When he has said his bit I can just add that he speaks for the both of us.

The moment by the gravesite is utterly depressing yet I am still disconnected and lost in my own memories and thoughts. It’s not until Peeta and I begin to leave that I take a real good look at the grieving family and fully take in what they are going through. I can never begin to imagine exactly what they are feeling but I know grief really well and understanding that their loss might be even greater than the ones I’ve suffered is enough. They all look so haggard, so desolate. Like all joy and hope has left them.

“That will never be me” I tell Peeta firmly as we walk down the path that leads away from the graveyard.

I mean it. With every bit of my being, I mean it. All thoughts of perhaps relenting and agreeing to starting a family are gone and I am more determined than ever before to never bear children. I could never handle what Greasy Sae and Lola and the rest of their family are going through right now and there is only one guaranteed way of protecting myself from it. I was right to never want children and this just confirms it.

“No, I suppose it won’t be” answers Peeta. “I mean, why should it? What happened to this family is just... the epitome of bad luck.”

“You’re chalking it up to just poor luck?” I ask. “That the odds were not _ever_ in their favour? Peeta we’re talking about the real world and the real world is not about good or bad luck. Not when it comes to things like this.” I give an angry kick to a rock that’s in my way, sending it flying across the path. I hate graveyards; I hate everything about them and even the neatly pebbled path leading to the south gates annoy me. “This proves that I’m right. Having children is beyond foolish.”

“I beg your pardon?” he says tiredly.

“How can you possibly think anything other than that?” I ask, my voice starting to reveal just how upset I am. “How can anyone want to have kids when they know what we know? That children die, even without the Capitol’s help.”

“You’re saying that because a child died of a previously undetected medical condition the whole world should cease to procreate?” asks Peeta. “That the answer to death is to just give up and not even try? That does not sound like the Katniss I know.”

“And what is your answer?” I ask, angry because he has a very valid point. “That everyone should go out and have _more_ kids because of this? That if those parents up by that grave have another child it’s going to make them forget the one they lost?”

“Forget? No. Nothing could ever make them forget.”

“Exactly.”

“But that doesn’t mean they can’t find joy in another child, if they want one.”

“Why would they take the chance? Why bring another child into their world when all that might await that kid is an early death?”

“In order to die you have to first have lived. I think life trumps the absence of life. When my name was drawn at the reaping I was almost paralysed with fear, I wanted to rage and scream at the unfairness of it all, I really did not want to die and I hated the fact that I knew I was soon about to. At no point did I wish I had never been _born_. And don’t you dare suggest that maybe my parents wished that because they would never have wanted to negate my entire existence to spare them the pain of my far too early death.”

I recoil a bit at the harshness in his voice. My hand slips into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I know we’re in the middle of an argument, even though I don’t quite know how we got here, but I want to assure him that I’m not thinking anything like that.

“On a logical plane I know what you’re saying makes some sense” I say. “But I just can’t, Peeta. By now you know why it took me so long to admit to myself that I’m in love with you; it was because I didn’t want to love somebody and then lose them. I tried to deny my feelings for you but I just couldn’t in the end. You were always there, even when you weren’t, if that makes sense.”

“Thank you” he says icily, pulling his hand out of mine and shoving it in his pocket. “I’m glad you feel that way about us.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Look, I’m obviously not able to put my feelings into words. I’ve _never_ been good at that. You are everything to me Peeta and you know it. All I’m saying here is that I can’t bring a child into the world and risk having that child taken away. Love has its ugly sides, too. You invest so much of yourself into it that if the one you love is taken from you then...” I can’t make myself finish the sentence. Images of Prim and my father flash before my eyes followed by the memory of what it was like when Peeta was held captive by President Snow.

“I don’t want to live my life afraid of having people matter because I run the risk of losing them” counters Peeta. “Nor do I think that’s what you want. If it was you would never have married me. You chose to be with me and if I end up being the first one of us to die I don’t think you will regret that you shared your life with me.”

“Falling in love is not an active choice” I say. “Having children is. Look at Bobbie’s parents, Peeta. _Look_ at them. Do you see all that pain?”

“I do, but unlike you I’m not terrified by it. The reason why it hurts so badly for them now is because they loved her so much. The more a person matters to you, the more it hurts to lose them. I find a sense of beauty in that... The greater the grief, the greater the love.”

“And you don’t want to protect yourself from that grief?”

“I look at Bobbie’s parents and I see two people who were blessed to have someone in their life they loved that much. You see the pain, I see the joy that came before it and I envy them. Most parents don’t survive their children, Katniss. Think about that.”

I do think about it. I understand what Peeta is saying but at the end of the day it makes no difference. I can’t force myself to see things the way he does even if I agree there’s logic to his reasoning. Peeta is different than I am. He’s more hopeful and has a much more positive outlook on life. To him love has always been something good, even when we were first brought to the Capitol and he fully intended to die so that I may live. Maybe it’s because he never lost anyone he loved when he was growing up. Peeta’s whole family was still intact when we entered the arenas and even though they were killed shortly after the Quarter Quell his belief in love as something entirely good was too cemented in him to change his outlook. I, on the other hand, had different experiences. Losing my father at such a young age and then fighting to protect those that I care about, often losing, made me hard. Love makes you vulnerable and I don’t want to be vulnerable. Maybe the fact that Peeta was the youngest of three brothers while I was an older sister had something to do with it too. He grew up protected by his siblings while I grew up fighting desperately to protect mine.

We don’t say anything further on the subject, instead we go to Haymitch’s house and spend the evening there. Haymitch is drunk and Peeta forces him into the shower to clean off the spilt alcohol and the fresh vomit on his shirt while I cook us dinner. The three of us then sit in silence for hours, each lost in their own trail of thoughts. When we go back home we head straight to bed without saying more than necessary. I’m too emotional from the funeral and Peeta is irritated from the talk we had on the way home. He doesn’t wrap his arms around me and I decide to let him be and not snuggle up to him. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for him that I’m so adamantly against having children.

With these thoughts running through my head I fall asleep and soon I’m lost in a nightmare. This time I dream that everyone I love dies and they all die for my hand. I light Prim on fire, I throw the spear into Rue, I beat Cinna to a pulp, I bludgeon Haymitch with one of his bottles, I cause the explosion that kills my father. Eventually I kill Peeta, too, and as I force the nightlock berries down his throat I realize that I am the mutt he once accused me of being. His hands have a firm hold on me, trying to pry me away but to no avail. I don’t want to do the things that I do but I can’t stop myself. I have killed everyone else who mattered and at last I kill the one person I cannot live without. Before the poison of the berries takes his life he hisses to me that I have also taken all his children.

“Katniss!”

I wake up to find that Peeta’s hands are on me to shake me awake, not push me away, and his voice is comforting, not accusing.

“Peeta!” I gasp.

“It’s alright” he says soothingly. “Just a nightmare. That’s all.” I sit up and he follows suit, wrapping an arm around me and massaging my shoulder with one hand. “After a day like today it’s not a shocker that you dreamt something bad. I had a nightmare myself.”

I lean into him, finding comfort in his embrace. If he was angry with me before, or upset in any way, that seems to have gone away now. At times like these I can’t help but think of what Haymitch once told me, and agree wholeheartedly. I do not deserve Peeta.

“I killed everybody” I tell him. “Everyone who mattered.”

“Except you didn’t” he comforts. “It was just a dream.”

“I’m sorry” I say.

“Don’t be sorry. Just relax. It was a bad dream and now it’s over.”

He holds me close and rocks me gently. It feels so good to have his strong chest to lean against, his strong arms wrapped around me protectively. How he manages to be this kind and comforting to me now when he didn’t want to lie close to me when we went to bed is amazing to me.

“No...” I say. “I mean I’m sorry about before. About the things I said. I...”

For the millionth time I curse my inability to put my thoughts into words. I’m not sorry that I said I don’t want children but I’m sorry I come off as so cold and uncaring about what Peeta wants. What he said to me in my dream was like a manifestation of one of the last thoughts that went through my head before I fell asleep. I don’t want to be a mother because I’m afraid of having to watch my children suffer and die and I don’t think I can bear the pain of losing a child. But for Peeta the one who causes him to lose his children is me. He’s not afraid that if we become parents our children will die on us. Because I’m so adamantly against the idea of parenthood he has already lost the children he so longs for. Still he chooses to be with me.

“Katniss it’s okay” says Peeta, though I can hear a hint of resignation in his voice.

“No” I say. “It’s not. I know that you want children. I just can’t. It frightens me too much. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

“I disagree” says Peeta. “But it’s your choice.”

“It doesn’t seem entirely fair that I get to choose for us both” I remark.

“You don’t. I was free to leave but I chose to marry you. I’m free to divorce you but I choose to stay.”

That doesn’t make me feel better. Given the choice between me and having his way on the matter of children he chose me. I, on the other hand, choose to persist in my determination not to have children, even if it means Peeta leaving me. But no sooner has that thought crossed my mind before I start to doubt it. Could I really? Could I live without him? He would never make me choose outright but if he felt he needed something more than I could give him would I relent in order to keep him? It’s a question I will never know the answer to because he will never put me in that position.

“I get to have my way and keep you” I say. “You don’t. I just... _need_ for you to know that I’m not trying to deny you that which I know you want or that I’m not taking your wants into consideration. It’s not about that. I don’t have anything against children but I don't think having them is a good idea. I’m sorry that I’m keeping you from having something that’s so important to you.” I swallow hard. “Maybe you would be better off with someone else. With someone who would make you a father.”

“Understand this, Katniss...” says Peeta gently. “I want to have children. More than I think you know. But I want to have children with _you_. If I can’t have that then I choose you over children. I know why you resist and I may not like it but I respect it.”

“It scares me that you might end up resenting me for it when we’re old” I admit.

“Spending a lifetime with you without getting to be a father would make me happier than spending a lifetime with anybody else and raising a whole score of kids.” He pauses for a moment. “I understand and respect your decision. In turn I... I hope you can understand and respect that there’s a part of me that will always hope that someday you’ll change your mind.”

“Peeta...”

“It would be different for me if you straight up didn’t _like_ children or didn’t desire to have one because it just doesn’t interest you. The reason why you don’t want to be a mother is because you’re afraid and you’re not sure that it’s a wise decision on our part to have kids. It’s the idea of _losing_ a child that scares you, not the idea of _having_ one. Someday you might decide that it’s worth the risk, just as you did with loving me.”

“Please, Peeta” I say. “Don’t hope. If you do then that’s where you might start to resent me in the end.”

“That won’t happen” he assures me, stroking my hair. “If you never change your mind I will still be grateful that I got to spend my life with you. If you do change your mind... well that will be the best bonus of all time.”

I turn my body so that I can wrap my arms around him and pull him close, resting my cheek against his. Unable to express in words what I feel I turn to other methods. I pull back from our embrace just enough so that I can caress his lips with mine. My hands begin to roam over his body and he responds in turn. When I give him a gentle nudge he lies back and lets me take the lead, watching me with awe as I tug on his pyjama pants.

There are no more nightmares that night.

 

 

Other nights I’m not as lucky. The nightmares come and go over the years, sometimes I have one almost every night and sometimes a month or two can go by without one. Unlike Peeta’s moments when the effects of the hijacking returns the nightmares don’t seem to fade over the years. They remain a constant in my life. A few rare times it happens that I start to feel more secure and start to wonder what it might be like if Peeta and I had a child but every time I allow myself to think that a nightmare comes to scare me back to where I started.

Peeta’s arms are always there for me to seek comfort in when I’ve woken up. Sometimes it feels like I give him so little and he gives me so much. I know he’s plagued by nightmares too but I never seem to know about them. I can’t imagine how tiring it must be for him to have his own demons to face and then having to face mine as well. I can’t help him fight his to the same extent, perhaps because he won’t let me know about them.

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” I ask one night when I’ve woken up screaming from a particularly bad nightmare. “Don’t you ever want to pretend you’re still sleeping? Or tell me to stop whining and go back to sleep, it’s just a nightmare, everybody has them?”

“No” says Peeta.

“Don’t you ever wish you shared a bed with someone who let you have a full night’s sleep every night?”

“Katniss your nightmares don’t bother me” says Peeta and strokes my hair. “I mean, of course they do, just not that way. As long as you keep having them I’m going to keep making you feel better when you wake up.”

“That’s a bold promise to make” I say, looking into his eyes. “You say that now but you’re bound to me for life. When we’re in our sixties you might not be as patient anymore.”

“It’s not a chore” he assures me. “It’s what we do. Comfort one another. You would do the same for me, every night for the rest of our lives if need be.”

“Yeah” I nod. “I would. Only it never seems like I have to. You seem like you do just fine without any help from me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers caress my cheek and I feel a longing and a hunger stir inside of me. “When you’re near me I’m not afraid of anything. You make me happy enough that all the bad things don’t seem to have as much power over me.”

“I wish you would wake me sometimes when you have a bad dream.”

“Why should I disturb your sleep? All I need is to know that you’re there.”

“Because I want to hold you when you’re scared” I tell him. “When you’ve had a nightmare I want to be able to comfort you the way you comfort me.”

“You do” smiles Peeta. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything... As long as I know that you’re safe and that you love me there’s nothing else I need to feel comforted.”

“If I were you I’d dare to dream a little grander” I smirk, giving him a teasing nudge. “I can be _very_ attentive in my attempts to show how much I love you.”

“That does sound tempting” he chuckles.

We kiss and then lie there for a while, just looking into each other’s eyes. At times we can lie this way for what seems like hours on end, saying nothing, doing nothing, just looking at one another. Our hands usually clasp but other than that we don’t even touch. I love these moments because they are a rare form of intimacy I never imagined people could have. Before I fell in love with Peeta I had no idea that I could want to just _look_ at someone and do nothing more. It’s as if we communicate without words because no words need to be spoken.

It’s during moments like these that I feel like I can have anything in the world and that maybe, just maybe, I might be brave enough one day to give Peeta the thing he longs for the most.

 

 

I lay awake at night, unable to sleep. Peeta snores lightly beside me, curled up on his side. His face rests by the crook of my neck causing each exhale to tickle me a little. His right arm is draped across me and both my hands caress it gently while I stare at the ceiling. My mind keeps coming back to how everyone will soon find out that Peeta and I are having a baby. I feel nothing but dread at the thought of how people will react. Hopefully they won’t react at all. After all it has been fifteen years since my husband or I did anything truly noteworthy to the public which means people ought to have lost interest a long time ago. But perhaps the upcoming addition to our family will make people start to gossip because it has been so long and since at least some seem to have dismissed the idea of us ever becoming parents. People must be wondering why we chose to have a baby now when we’ve gone without for fifteen years.

People will congratulate us, of course. Talk about how these are special, happy times. I know that they are right. It’s the logical response to a pregnancy and God knows my baby’s father feels that way. Peeta embraces everything that makes him happy with open arms while I almost shy away from it. It’s one of those differences between us that sometimes make me wonder how on earth we found love in one another when we’re so different and other times seem to be the whole reason why we fit so well together.

As I lay awake tonight I can’t help but think of how unfair it is that I should get this happiness. Because I am happy. Happier than I deserve to be and happier than I ever dared to hope I could be. It makes no sense. Why do I get to be happy? I’m the one who won the Hunger Games by killing and manipulating and thinking only of myself. I’m the one who ignited the fire that killed so many people. During the revolution people rallied to my alias and to my image and it got them killed. It’s true that we won peace at the end but my role in all of it was never that of a heroine. My part in the Games and the war is too sullied by blood and death and despair to be a symbol of hope for the future. There are so many others who far more than I deserved to survive and live happily ever after. Finnick. Rue. Prim. I could go on listing names until I drive myself crazy but especially Prim’s name sends a jolt of pain and guilt through my heart. The whole reason why I took part in the Games was to protect her and in the end it was in vain. She was the good sister, the one with the heart, the healer. Yet she died and I lived.

I listen to Peeta’s light snores and I think of all the happiness he’s brought me. Someone else really ought to have had that happiness but I know that nobody could take my place in Peeta’s life just like no other man could mean as much to me as he does. This thought is what I cling to when the guilt becomes overbearing. I may not deserve happiness but he does and I know he couldn’t have that without me. Sometimes that thought is the only thing that allows me to keep calm when these feelings hit me. The happiness in my life is not a reward for my own efforts and actions but a side effect of the rewards Peeta so justly deserves. I want him to be happy. I want to _make_ him happy. I know that feeling is not unique but rather a natural part of being in love yet it’s more than just that. I _owe_ it to him.

A lump forms in my throat. Having never felt that I deserve the happiness I do have I am never able to shake the fear that it may all be taken away. Could I go on living if I lost Peeta? Happiness is one of the most dangerous things in the world, together with love. I love my husband dearly and we’re going to bring a child into the world. The more you have the more can be taken from you.

Now there’s going to be one more person in my life to love. Somebody who is sure to be one of the greatest gifts I ever receive but who also has the potential of becoming the greatest loss I will ever experience. I wish I had just a fraction of Peeta’s strength and his faith in love as something completely good. Since I don’t I will just have to compose myself, take a deep breath and pray that the day will never come when I lose the child growing inside of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greasy Sae's granddaughter mentioned in this chapter is not supposed to be the same one that gets a few scenes in the books, just in case someone was wondering.


	5. Rue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named for Rue, but it's not actually about her and rather about the meaning of her name. So don't expect all that much stuff related to the actual character Rue =)

I’m drawing the bones out from a fish I bought at the marketplace earlier in the day the first time I feel it. The sensation takes me by surprise and I drop the knife, sending it clattering to the bottom of the sink. My hand, now knife-free, goes to my swollen belly and a gasp escapes my lips. Once the first surprise fades away the only thing I’m feeling is complete and utter horror.

Peeta has been peeling potatoes next to me by the sink and looks up at me with surprise and fear in his eyes when he sees me. I probably look like I have seen the ghost of President Snow because one of his arms is around me in an instant.

“What is it?” he asks. “Is something wrong with the baby?” When I don’t answer at first he gives me a little shake. “ _Katniss_?”

“It...” I stutter. “It’s moving.”

A frown appears on his face.

“What?”

“It’s moving. I felt it moving.”

The frown turns into a smile that would probably have melted many women much softer than me. He looks absolutely thrilled as he places his free hand next to mine on my stomach.

“That is fantastic!” he says. “Do you think it will do it again? I mean, I know it will but do you think it will be right now?”

I try my best to hide a groan, not agreeing at all that this is fantastic. This is probably not the first time the baby has made movements but up until now it’s been rather faint and I haven’t been sure if it’s the baby or just my stomach. This time however I felt a kick that could only have come from a baby in the womb. With this it has finally become real to me, inescapably real. There is a real, living being inside of me. A child, my child with Peeta. Someone completely innocent who never asked to be brought into the world and who has done nothing to deserve all the horrors life has to offer.

I want to scream, I want to shout, I want to turn back the clock and remind myself to never, ever give in and agree to having children. This thing inside of me is alive. And everything that is alive must one day die. I can’t bear the thought of that.

“I was starting to get worried” says Peeta, his voice showing no signs of anything even remotely related to worry. “Does it usually take this long? Before the mother can feel it moving, I mean? How long do you figure before I can feel it too? I’m really envious of you – you get to feel how it moves and grows while I just get to watch from the outside.”

“I need to sit” I groan, swatting his hand away and half-stumbling, half-walking over to the nearest chair. I sink down and sigh heavily, another wave of terror washing over me as I feel the baby move again.

Peeta sinks to his knees in front of me and places both hands on my belly, eagerly anticipating what I wholeheartedly fear. I don’t want to feel the baby kicking again. Not right now anyway. I need a moment, an hour, a week. Just some measure of time that allows me to comprehend and come to terms with what is going to happen. Peeta and I are going to bring a new life into the world. A poor, defenceless life vulnerable to all the horrors the world has to offer.

Of course, my husband sees it differently. Is there anything about this whole parent-to-be thing that doesn’t thrill him? Something about the look on his face reminds me of Prim’s face the day I gave her the goat. I force the thought from my mind. I don’t want to think of her.

“Sit for a while” says Peeta, as if I’m not sitting already. “Rest. I will finish dinner.”

He places a loving kiss on my stomach before going over to the counter and picking up where I left off. I run my hand up and down my belly, trying to calm myself. We really are having a child. I’m going to be a mother. How did I ever think I could do this?

“When do you think I will be able to feel it too?” asks Peeta, sounding so very chipper.

“I’m not sure” I say.

“Soon, I hope.”

“Peeta doesn’t it scare you?” I ask.

He stops what he’s doing, puts the knife down and turns around to look at me. I feel completely miserable, wondering if I am in fact the worst wife and mother in the world for saying things like that about our unborn child. Peeta, of course, is too ridiculously loyal to ever harbour such thoughts about me.

“I know that you’re scared” he says. “Who can blame you?” Then he does actually say something I hadn’t expected him to. “I just... thought you had gotten past that now since you didn’t get pregnant by accident.”

“I...” I stutter. “I...”

Peeta looks at me with concern and it makes me feel bad. Here I’ve spent fifteen years adamantly denying him something he’s really been pining for and now that I’ve had a change of heart I’m still in partially clinging to my original thoughts on the matter. In a way it’s no different from how it used to anger me when Peeta said or did things that implied that he wanted children even though he knew I felt differently. He’s happy now, happier than I think I’ve ever seen him before, and I don’t want to sully that or take that away from him. I don’t want him to feel bad about his excitement.

“I’m just nervous” I say. “Like everybody who is having a baby for the first time. We don’t know what to expect or really what we’re doing and... sometimes it feels like nine months is a really short period of time, you know?”

To my relief he smiles and turns his attention back to preparing dinner.

“It does seem unreal that you’re more than halfway through your pregnancy” he says. “Granted I’ve only known about it for a couple of months but still... I think being nervous about what to do or not to do comes with the territory. It’s a huge responsibility.”

“To say the least” I mutter miserably.

“Though truth be told I don’t worry too much” says Peeta, shrugging a shoulder. “After all, people have been doing it since the beginning of time. Why should we be any different?”

“I suppose...”

“I think we’re just both a little extra nervous since it’s our first child” he continues. He casts a look over his shoulder, smiling brightly at me. “You’ll feel more relaxed about it with our future sons and daughters.”

I glare at his backside. Sons? Daughters? Plural? Just how many times does he think we’re going to be doing this?

“Can you hurry up with dinner?” I ask, wanting to eat and go to bed and not talk about this anymore tonight.

Obediently he continues to prepare the fish and gets the potatoes boiling. He’s barely announced that dinner will be ready in ten minutes when the door opens and Haymitch, never bothering to knock anymore, comes strolling in.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky day!” he declares. “You’re making dinner? What perfect timing.”

I roll my eyes. No doubt has he timed his entrance to roughly the time of day when we’re about to eat dinner. When it comes to meals we are creatures of habit and he knows it. Peeta greets him with a chuckle and walks over to set the table for another person. I refuse to get up from my chair and help, feeling I’m entitled to sit and rest. Peeta may be making dinner but I’m making a person and that takes more effort.

“Ah, the sweet glow of a pregnant woman” grins Haymitch.

I frown and immediately think of eleven poisonous replies to choose from. I know he did not mean it as a compliment since I would have to be feeling much better in order to be considered glowing by any standards. Before I can settle on which reply to use Peeta begins to talk and diverts Haymitch’s attention.

“Fish stew and potatoes” he announces. “Will that sufficiently soak up whatever you had drank for lunch?”

“It should suffice” says Haymitch. “Any of your bread to go with it?”

“Yeah but not freshly baked” answers Peeta, chopping up some cucumber, lettuce and tomato for the new plate.

“What’s the point of being a baker if you don’t bake for your own damn household?”

“What’s the point of raising geese when you never allow us to cook them?” I retort.

“Valid point” shrugs Haymitch.

“Have a seat” says Peeta with a warm smile. “Dinner’s ready in just a few minutes.” He walks over to the iron pot and stirs the stew a bit. “So guess what happened not long before you came stomping in here.”

“Someone came by and took the last of the fresh bread?”

“Katniss felt the baby kick.”

To my great surprise Haymitch lights up at this. His eyebrows go up and he has a very pleased expression on his face.

“Oh” says Haymitch. “The littlest Mellark has begun to make his or her presence known. That’s exciting.”

“You should feel bad coming here to mooch off of our dinner when Peeta eats like a horse and I eat for two” I retort. God, even Haymitch is more excited about this than I am and it makes me feel bad. The baby kicks again and I fight to keep the fear at bay. “Don’t you have anything better to do at this hour?”

“You mean drink?” asks Haymitch with a smirk. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I longed for the company of my good neighbours over my bottles.”

“You’re always welcome here, you know that” says Peeta, scooping stew over on our plates. “There’s enough food to go around.”

I’m vaguely aware that I’m not the most pleasurable company at the moment but I don’t care enough to put on a smile and be friendly towards Haymitch. Of course he’s always welcome, fact is I would miss him if he didn’t show up every once in a while to eat our food and keep us up way past the time we’d prefer to go to bed but tonight’s just not a good night. The baby’s kicks have made me afraid and the fact that Haymitch seems genuinely excited about it makes me feel like a bad mother. I can barely even comprehend that I _am_ a mother, or a mother-to-be at least. What I’d really want to do is take my plate and go upstairs and finish it on my own, then perhaps take a nice, long bath and maybe even cry a little. I never used to cry much but I’ve been rather emotional since this whole thing started.

Peeta comes over to the table with two plates, setting one down in front of me and the other in front of Haymitch.

“Dinner is served” he announces, walking back to the counter to get his own plate.

“Smells delicious” I offer.

“Taste’s great” adds Haymitch, already on his second bite.

“Good” smiles Peeta, taking a seat opposite me at the table.

“So,” says Haymitch after his first few bites, “just the one kick, huh?”

“Yes” I sulk, wondering why he insists on talking about this. Can’t he mind his own damn business? “Well, at first. It’s kicked again twice.”

“It’s amazing” grins Peeta.

“But just one kick at a time?” asks Haymitch.

“Yes, what about it?” I snarl.

“Huh.” Haymitch takes a big bite of his dinner and chews it thoughtfully. When he’s swallowed it down he raises an eyebrow and looks at my stomach. “Given the size of that thing I would have guessed you’re growing twins in there.”

Peeta chokes on a tomato and Haymitch gives him a few hard pats on the back to get it up. I’m about as startled at the suggestion as my husband but I manage to keep my composure better. Peeta reaches for his glass and downs a few gulps of water, trying to still his coughs.

“It’s not twins” he then croaks.

“Sure about that?” wonders Haymitch.

“Pretty sure” I say.

“Not that I would mind twins...” says Peeta, setting his glass back down and trying to force back another cough, though he sounds unsure. “Just... The thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

“It’s not twins” I say firmly.

“Then it must be a strong, healthy baby you’ve got in there” says Haymitch. “For you to be so big already. I’m glad I’m not you when the nine months are up and that thing has to come out.”

For half a second I don’t know what he’s talking about. Last week I went to see a midwife to make sure everything seemed normal and she said my belly was within the normal size range. Then I understand what Haymitch is really saying and all my anger at him washes away and I have to hurriedly lift my glass and drink some water to compose myself and keep myself from being overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotion. He’s not really suggesting that we might be having twins. He’s trying to reassure me. While Peeta might only see the wonders of the pregnancy Haymitch has a mind that works like mine and he knows exactly why it took fifteen years for me to agree to having a baby. In his own way he’s trying to make me feel better by assuring me that the baby is probably strong and healthy. I could hug and kiss him for it.

Peeta changes the subject, telling Haymitch about a conversation he had with Johanna over the phone yesterday, and for the moment the pregnancy is forgotten. At least on the surface. While we eat I feel the baby kick again, a little harder this time. It’s both frightening and somehow just a little bit reassuring. A strong kick. A healthy baby.

 

 

After dinner Peeta orders Haymitch and me to the living room while he does the dishes. I try to protest that since he cooked I should clean up but he insists that I go put my feet up on the couch. So I do, and I let Haymitch get the fire going. Once Peeta is done with the dishes he joins us and plays a lengthy game of chess with Haymitch. I sit on the couch, caressing my baby bump with one hand while I watch the two play. Sometimes they go almost ten minutes without uttering a word. Sometimes they go almost five minutes without moving a single piece. It is beyond me how they can enjoy this game. I would have lost my patience ages ago.

When the game is over Peeta admits defeat and announces that it’s time for him to go prepare the dough for tomorrow morning’s baking and Haymitch makes him promise fresh bread for breakfast as a prize to the winner. Peeta leaves us and goes back to the kitchen. I sit up and speak for the first time since dinner.

“Don’t you ever get tired of playing chess?” I ask.

“The real question is, doesn’t your husband ever get tired of losing at chess?” grins Haymitch.

“Please. He beats you almost as often as you beat him” I say, rising with some difficulty.

“Almost.”

“I’m exhausted” I say. “I’m going to go to bed. You can stay if you want but be warned that you might have to help Peeta bake.”

Haymitch laughs at that.

“I think Peeta should be the one you warn, not me.”

“Right” I nod. “On second thought, please don’t bother my husband while he’s working. That’s my breakfast he’s preparing, too.”

With a good-natured chuckle Haymitch walks out of the room and into the dining room which in turn leads to the deck on the back of the house. I follow him and bid him a good night as he walks out of our house and into the darkness outside. I walk up to the door to close and lock but I end up just standing there in the doorway, watching my old mentor walk down the three steps that lead from the deck down to the grass below.

“Thank you” I say, hoping he knows how much I appreciate his gesture during dinner.

He stops, turns and smiles at me.

“I’m proud of you both” he says. “I hope you know that. You and the boy will do great with this child.”

A wide smile spreads across my face and on a sudden impulse I wave him over.

“Come here.”

I can tell from the look on his face he didn’t expect this. He hesitates for a brief second and then he walks back and up the stairs till he’s next to me. I take his hand and place it on my belly where, sure enough, the baby kicks after about ten seconds. When I see the look on his face I suddenly feel like I know what my father’s face would have looked like if he had been here now. I’m surprised to see a reaction like this in Haymitch yet at the same time it makes all the sense in the world. This is his family too, in a way.

“That’s really something” he comments.

I nod.

“Just don’t tell Peeta I let you feel it before he got a chance to.”

“Don’t worry” he says, giving my belly a gentle pat. “Secret’s safe with me.” He walks back down the stairs and begins to walk towards his house. After about five steps he looks at me over his shoulder. “All will be well, sweetheart. Have no regrets.”

I stand there for a few minutes, watching him make his way back home and disappear into his house. No lights go on at first but after a few minutes a lamp is lit in his bedroom. Hopefully that means he’s heading to bed and not to the bottle.

I don’t know why I keep standing there. It’s getting cold out and I long for my warm bed but for some reason I don’t move an inch. When I hear Peeta’s steps behind me I know I must have been standing here for quite a while. He makes a little noise to alert me to his presence, as if I can’t hear his footsteps wherever he walks. The next thing I know his arms are where my waist used to be and he moves them forward in a gentle caress until they meet over my bellybutton.

“Did Haymitch get home okay?” he asks, resting his cheek against mine.

“Yeah. I even think he went to bed.”

“Mmm... Sounds like a plan.”

I hold back a groan. The nausea won’t completely let up and that coupled with my swollen body makes me feel as far from sexy as can be. I hope he’s just referring to going to sleep because otherwise I’m going to have to disappoint him.

“Don’t you have dough to prepare?” I ask.

“I’m almost done.”

“How long have I been standing here?” I ask, slightly disturbed by the idea that he’s had time to prepare most of the dough for tomorrow while I’ve been out here.

“About long enough” chuckles Peeta. He kisses my cheek and moves his hands to run them up and down my arms. “Go upstairs and get into bed. I’ll be with you in a little while. I just need to finish up in the kitchen and clean up.”

I take his hand and let him lead me inside and back to the living room. From there we part ways. He goes to the kitchen, grabbing his apron from the hanger by the door, and I go out into the hallway to head upstairs.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to wash up, brush my teeth and undo the braid I’ve had my hair up in all day. Once I’m undressed I stand in front of the mirror for a moment, turning to the side to get a better look at my stomach. It feels strange to look at myself and see this. It’s not just my stomach that’s gotten bigger either and I’m not used to seeing my face this full so to me it looks bloated. With a sigh I grab my nightgown and leave the bathroom to crawl into bed.

I’m still awake a short while later when Peeta comes up from the kitchen. I’m lost in my own thoughts, staring at the ceiling, when he comes to bed and I feel his hands lovingly caress my belly. He places a soft kiss right below my bellybutton and begins to talk to the baby. It’s his bedtime ritual; almost every night he does this, claiming he wants our child to know his voice.

I listen to him talk to our unborn child and marvel once again at how calm and comfortable he sounds. My mind, on the other hand, is lost in much more troubling thoughts. I keep going back to what Haymitch said. No regrets. No regrets...

 

 

It has not always been easy over the years. With my hunting, Peeta’s baking and the combination of both the “rebel’s pension” and “victor’s pension” we receive from the new government we’ve never had to starve but there have been other troubles in our life. When I was younger and we sometimes went for days without filling our stomachs I used to think that as long as you had enough to eat and nobody was ill then you could have no real problems. Granted I was twelve when I thought that but it was still a naive notion.

There was also a time when I thought love was all we would need. When two people have been through what we’ve been through and love each other as much as we do then how can they ever argue or be mad at one another? Turns out that happens anyway, even in the best of marriages. We may not argue often but when we do it can get pretty intense. One of the biggest regrets I have is some of the things I’ve said to Peeta during our worst arguments. I can be nasty when I’m angry and when my defences are up. I never mean a word I say in such moments and I always apologise afterward but I can never completely forget the look on his face when I say those things.

Not all our arguments are big and nasty. Sometimes we just bicker or quarrel over little things in our daily life, like whose turn it is to go make sure Haymitch made it home from the town bar where he goes once a month to drink with other drunkards or whether Peeta can fix our broken car or it should be handed in to service. I don’t particularly regret those quarrels. They are harmless and we don’t exactly get _mad_ at one another. I think it’s just part of sharing your life with someone and living so close together. Prim and I used to bicker sometimes too, even though I would rather pretend we didn’t. Peeta says you sometimes take your frustration and anger over something else out over those you love the most because you know they will still be there afterward. Maybe he’s right but I don’t like the sound of it.

Still, for the most part we have a good life together. Or at least as good as two such damaged people can have. We have bread on the table, arguments are few and far between and we’ve been in good health overall. What really plagues us are the nightmares, the periods of depression and the lingering effects of Peeta’s hijacking. Neither will ever completely go away but we are able to help each other get through it. We carry each other through the hard times and support one another no matter what. We make the best of what we’ve got and I know without the shadow of a doubt that if I didn’t have Peeta there would not be hope and joy and love in my life. I wish just being together could be enough to erase all of the darkness we carry from the Games and from the war but unfortunately there are some things that a loving relationship can’t make go away, only make easier to bear.

Peeta is for the most part happy and content. He has that ability to find the good things in the world and cherish them and he shows and shares them with me. I think that’s why it hurts so much when he visibly struggles; it makes such a glaring contrast to his usual happy self. Sometimes when the effects of the hijacking take control of him it seems to drain him completely and he barely speaks afterward, just stares blankly into space. On occasion he will lose his good spirits and grieve the people he lost in the war and he rarely lets me in when he’s feeling that way. For the most part he doesn’t seem to reflect on his missing limb but there are times when it frustrates him that his body is mutilated and he can’t stand the sight of the artificial leg or the stump. He’s told me that he sometimes feels pain and itching in the foot that’s gone and it eats away at him because there’s nothing he can do. How do you relieve pain and discomfort in something that’s not even there anymore? All I can do for him during such times is hold him, comfort him and make sure he knows how much I love him.

We’re in our mid-twenties the year that stands out to me as perhaps the roughest one of our marriage. Slowly, so slowly that I barely notice how it happens, Peeta slips into deep depression. His usual cheerfulness goes away, he becomes closed off, he no longer seems to find joy in baking or painting or the sports he likes to play with his friends. Everything he does seems to be out of habit and almost mechanical, like he’s not really there. He gets up in the morning, he works in the bakery, he helps me make dinner, stares into the fireplace for an hour or two and then goes to bed. Every day.

At first I leave him be. I don’t expect him to always be at his best and in fact I think it could be healthy to allow yourself some time every now and then to immerse yourself in the things that trouble you. It can help you deal and find a way to work through it. We both struggle with depression from time to time though for him it happens a lot more seldom than for me. But when two weeks pass and I see no change in him I begin to worry.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Says it’s nothing, that he’s just tired. I remind him that I can spot a depression a mile away, having gone through my fair share of them and seen him go through a few, but he insists that I’m wrong and that nothing is bothering him.

After a while I try other means to reach him and to either cheer him up or get him to open up. I draw him a bath and give him a shoulder massage while he’s in the tub, which seems to relax him a little but nothing more. I try to seduce him in the hope of showing him my affection, giving him pleasure and maybe getting him to open up to me in the aftermath. He’s not responsive, doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested in sex. I make his favourite tea in the evening and bring it to him when he’s in his armchair watching the fire and I sink down on his lap and embrace him, asking him to open up to me. It doesn’t work either.

One day when I’ve gone out to the woods I’m surprised by a sudden downpour and head home early. As I walk inside the house I can hear Peeta talking on the phone with somebody. At first I think it’s Dr. Aurelius and I’m greatly relieved that he decided to talk to him. I toss my empty game bag on the floor and remove my wet jacket and pants, walking quietly through the hallway in just my shirt and underwear, planning to go upstairs and change. When I pass by the kitchen I hear more of his conversation and only two steps up the stairs I freeze.

“Come on, Johanna, I’m serious.”

Johanna? Johanna Mason? As in, he’s not talking to Dr. Aurelius but to our fellow tribute and victor? Feeling a sudden rush of anger and some other emotion I can’t specify I walk quietly back down the stairs and stop in the hallway, out of view from the kitchen but close enough to hear every word out of my husband’s mouth.

“I don’t know” sighs Peeta. “Hearing you say that is not exactly helpful, though.”

The undefined feeling in my stomach grows stronger, gnawing uncomfortably. Why is he on the phone with Johanna talking like this? If he wants somebody to tell him something helpful he should try talking to me, his wife. Or Dr. Aurelius. What does Johanna Mason have to offer by way of advice that we can’t?

“True” says Peeta, as if reading my mind. Then he continues with things that definitely don’t agree with the things I’m thinking. “I’m just bothered by it, you know?” Pause. “Exactly.” Another pause. “Yes. Thanks. If you don’t understand I don’t know who will.”

The conversation goes on for another ten minutes and I remain out in the hallway until it’s over, listening to every word out of his mouth. Anger and frustration builds inside of me every time he speaks. He doesn’t say anything that helps me know why he’s feeling so depressed and that hurts me in two ways. One, because I really want to know even if I have to eavesdrop to find out. Two, because it’s obvious Johanna knows since he doesn’t have to explain it to her. It soon becomes obvious to me that this is not the first time he’s spoken to her over the phone and finally I am able to put a name to the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Jealousy.

Knowing that Peeta is confiding in another woman, letting her in on secrets he won’t share with me, feels like a deep betrayal. I have never before in my married life felt jealousy like this. There have been traces of it on a few occasions but nothing that’s been worth troubling about. I know Peeta loves me and wants nobody else but me and I would trust him completely even if I was away and every beautiful woman in all of Panem came over and tried to seduce him. Even now it’s not about that kind of jealousy. Peeta would never cheat on me or even want to.

This, however, feels like emotional adultery. It makes me angry, at myself and at Peeta and at Johanna. Angry with myself because I’m failing him though I can’t figure out how. Angry with him for turning to somebody else without even trying to open up to me. Angry at Johanna for meddling in something that’s none of her business.

Before I can get myself too worked up I hear Peeta dropping something on the floor and cursing loudly. I realize I’m standing in the hallway outside the kitchen wearing a damp shirt and underwear. If he finds me like this he’s going to have a few questions. My gut reaction is to simply walk into the kitchen and show him that I am very much his wife and the only woman he should be truly intimate with, be it physically or emotionally. The idea is quickly discarded. He hasn’t been interested in sex lately and frankly I don’t think he deserves any right now. My second impulse is to hurry up the stairs and put some clothes on before he finds me like this.

I take a hot shower to try and calm myself and warm up but my anger and my jealousy refuses to let up. I feel left out and betrayed and I hate him for it. Why doesn’t he trust me? Why won’t he let me in? I’ve been trying to help; I’ve made it clear that I’m willing to listen. Still nothing on his part. I’m supposed to be the one who’s closed off, not him.

Truth be told I’ve never been entirely comfortable with his friendship with Johanna but they see each other so rarely that I don’t think about it much. I assume Peeta has similar thoughts about whatever’s left of my friendship with Gale, which granted is very little, and given our history he wouldn’t be a jerk if he voiced objections. He never says anything though, so how can I say anything about what I know is a platonic friendship with another woman?

Once I’ve stepped out of the shower and dried off I walk into the bedroom and begin putting on dry, clean clothes. I lean forward and let my hair fall down in front of me and I braid it like that before standing up straight again. I hear familiar steps on the stairs and a moment later Peeta comes in with my discarded pants in his hands.

“Got caught in the rain?” he asks.

“Yeah” I mutter in response, not sure if I want to be sullen towards him or act as if everything is normal.

“Don’t leave wet clothes on the floor. You know better.”

He sounds absent-minded. Whatever he was talking to Johanna about it didn’t seem to do much to improve his spirits. I don’t comment on the clothes, I just watch him from the corner of my eye as he hangs them up to dry. Peeta has always been much tidier than me and prefers to keep the house clean and orderly. I suppose that comes with being a baker since the kitchen would look horrible at all times if he didn’t take care to clean up after himself but a small part of me wonders if it has to do with that witch of a mother of his. If she hurt him hard enough to leave a black eye just for burning some bread I can only imagine what she did if he didn’t clean his room properly.

“Are you done in the kitchen?” I ask, wondering why he is up here at this time of day.

“I’ve got bread in the oven.” His voice sounds a touch distant and I hate that. I hear it far too often nowadays. “Did you have a productive day in the woods?”

“No. The weather was too bad.” Bad weather didn’t use to discourage me but now that I don’t have to bring home game on a regular basis to keep us fed I can be more choosy.

“If you don’t have any other plans for the remainder of the day would you mind going into town and get me some ointment?”

Up until now I’ve been undecided as to whether I should be mad at him or not. This request tips the scale in the favor of not being angry. The ointment he’s referring to is one he uses on the stump of his left leg when it pains him. I wasn’t aware that he’d run out but maybe he’s been using it a lot lately. It’s not much but at least it’s something I can do to help him feel a bit better.

“Of course, sweetie” I say affectionately. I walk up to him and give his cheek a gentle rub with my thumb.

“Thank you” he says, managing a smile. He then gives me a kiss. Just a light peck on the lips but at least it’s something.

 

 

It has stopped raining when I step outside but the ground is wet and I have to sidestep a number of puddles on my way in to town. At least there are proper roads nowadays. The first few years after the war many of the roads were actually dirt paths and whenever it rained or when the snows were melting they turned into mudslides.

Not a lot of people are out when I get to town, except for a group of children splashing and playing in the puddles. I smile at them as I pass them by. Children seem so carefree now. It’s how it should be. No fear of where their next meal is going to come from or fear of the day when they will have to stand at the reaping and pray that they won’t hear their name spoken.

I go to the pharmacy to get Peeta’s ointment. It’s a small building next to the hospital. The hospital is constantly being expanded and from what I understand the pharmacy will eventually be built in to it. For now it remains its own little house, painted green with a white cross on one of the walls. I don’t like pharmacies much, they remind me far too much of Prim and of Mother, but I come in here on a regular basis to get my birth control pills and every so often in search of other medications. The pharmacist, Mr. Teller, recognizes me and smiles broadly as I step inside. It always amazes me how a man who sells medication to the ill can be so happy to see you. If he’s genuinely fond of you wouldn’t he want you to be healthy and not need the things he sells?

“Katniss, how are you?” smiles Mr. Teller.

“Wet” I say. “Though not quite as much as when the downpour started.”

Mr. Teller laughs. He seems like he’s always in a good mood.

“Out in the woods, were you?”

“Yeah” I say. I would prefer to cut right to the chase but that would be impolite. “I’ll bring you game next time I catch any. How are the wife and kids?”

“They are just fine. Kids are out playing in the puddles.”

“Yeah I saw a whole group of them on my way here” I say. I figure I’ve been polite enough. “I’m here to get some ointment for Peeta’s leg.”

Mr. Teller doesn’t comment. He just nods and goes off to get it. I lean over the counter and let out a sigh, gazing out the window at the overcast. I hope it won’t start to rain again before I get home. I wonder what Peeta is doing. Baking? Talking on the phone? How many people does he talk to instead of me? Is it better or worse if it’s just Johanna?

“There we go, Katniss” says Mr. Teller, coming back out with a bottle in a bag. “Hope it will last for a long time.”

I give him the first genuine smile I’ve mustered in a few days.

“Thank you.”

“Tell Peeta that Holly hopes the Cupcake Man will show up for her birthday” adds Mr. Teller with a wink.

“I’ll do that” I answer. He seems to think I know what he’s referring to but I don’t have a clue. I didn’t even know his youngest daughter’s birthday was coming up.

I pay for the ointment, tell him to give my best to his family and step outside. The air feels fresh and clean and the sun is shining warm and bright now. I’ve always loved the way it smells after it’s rained. Prim used to say it was like the whole world had been washed clean, which I always thought was a charming way to put it. There’s a lump in my throat when I think about it. It’s been years now but it still hurts badly to think about her.

Slowly I make my way through town, not in any real hurry. Peeta will probably be working for another two or three hours and after that we’ll get started on dinner. I hope Haymitch comes over tonight. I can’t figure out how I feel about what I’ve learned today and I’m not keen on spending dinner trying to figure it out while my husband says a bare minimum and sits with his shoulders slumping. Whenever I feel down or depressed his presence and support always comforts me. Why am I not able to do the same for him?

 

 

That night I begin to watch a movie with Peeta doodling on his sketchpad next to me on the couch. About halfway through the film he yawns, sets the pad aside and announces that he’s going to bed. I stay to see how the movie will turn out but during one of the breaks I grab the pad to see what he’s sketched. Nothing of interest, as it turns out. Mindless doodles, the kind he’ll scribble while he’s on the phone. An occasional cartoonish version of an animal. A frog. Two squirrels. Nothing that tells me anything about what he’s thinking. Part of me is very tempted to go to the room upstairs where he does most of his paintings and look through it. I don’t go in that room very often. Peeta doesn’t care if I do but it feels like his sanctuary and a place I should let him have to himself. I don’t know why I have that feeling. He’s never said or done anything to imply that he doesn’t want me there.

I decide against it. Why should I go there and snoop through his paintings like a thief in the night? If I want to look at his artwork all I have to do is ask. With a groan I sink further down into the couch, wishing Buttercup was around but he finally decided he’d had enough of Peeta and me and went to join Prim and Father a year and a half ago. The house seems empty without him and we’ve talked about getting another pet but so far we haven’t decided on anything.

After the movie is over I turn the TV off and make sure everything is locked, all open flames are extinguished and all artificial light is switched off. I walk quietly up the stairs in case Peeta is sleeping. When I step inside our bedroom I can see him stretched out on his stomach, using his right arm as a pillow. He’s completely silent which means he’s still awake. Whenever he’s asleep he snores lightly, something I hope won’t escalate and get louder as the years go by. Most nights we sleep so closely together that I would have that noise right in my ear and be unable to go to sleep.

Even though he’s awake I walk silently to the bathroom and try to make as little noise as possible while I’m getting ready for the night. There’s still not a sound from him when I lift up the covers and climb into bed. I don’t lie down at once. Instead I sit up, hugging my knees, watching his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath. I let my hand reach out and caress him and he grunts a little but doesn’t sound displeased.

“Peeta…” I say in a loud whisper.

“Mmm?” he mumbles.

“Won’t you talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about” he mumbles into his arm.

“I know that’s not true. Please Peeta… Don’t shut me out.”

He rolls over and looks up at me with eyes half closed.

“Come here.”

I lay down and rest my head on his chest, letting his arms wrap around me. We haven’t slept this close since his depression worsened. Most nights we’ve just been laying side by side, close enough to touch but not wrapped in each other’s arms. It feels comforting and reassuring to be in his embrace and I let out a content sigh even though this doesn’t really change anything about the situation.

“It’s nothing” says Peeta, proving my point. “I’m just stressed at the bakery. My leg’s been bothering me. Nothing to be concerned about.”

I want to protest and make sure he knows I know better. Whatever this is it runs so much deeper than being tired from work or having some aches. Still I choose to say nothing and I don’t even know why.

“Maybe you should hire an extra hand to help you out?” I say, unsure of why I’m playing along with this stupid charade.

“It’s just a phase” he replies. “Things will slow down soon and I won’t have use for that extra hand. I’d feel bad firing someone after just a few weeks.”

There are three other bakeries in town and most people buy their bread there instead of coming all the way out to the Victor’s Village. Peeta mostly bakes and sells to the families who live out here, all of which are in some way connected to the new government. What does draw in customers from near and far are his cupcakes, his cookies and his cakes. Having your wedding cake decorated by Peeta Mellark started as a sign of status but has evolved into a token of good luck. He also bakes and decorates cakes for birthday parties, christenings and the like. I know it can get hectic at times but he’s usually good at managing his time and knows how much work he’ll be able to do. He never takes on more than he will be able to deliver even if that means some will have to make do with wedding cakes from a different bakery.

“Maybe we should go away for a while” I suggest. “Get away from here, let you take some leave from work… We could go to former District 7. They have a lot of woodland there… I could hunt, you could paint…” I pause for a moment before I continue. “Johanna Mason still lives there, I think. We could stay with her.”

“Sure” he says but doesn’t sound too enthusiastic. “We can do that. In a month or so. Right now I have a lot of orders.”

It’s obvious we won’t be going anywhere. At least he didn’t perk up at the mention of getting to see Johanna in person. With a deep sigh I close my eyes to go to sleep. There’s nothing more I can do right now when he won’t let me in.

 

 

When I’m out hunting I can be very patient. I can stalk my prey for however long it takes. I can sit in a glade and wait for hours on end to see if game will pass me by. When I have an animal in my sight I can ready my bow and take my aim and wait for what feels like all eternity to get a good line of shot.

Outside of the woods is another story.

My patience lasts for a little over a month until it runs out. It’s dinner time and Haymitch has joined us. He must be here for the food because Peeta rarely makes conversation spontaneously anymore and I’m not very chatty either these days. At this point I feel like I’ve exhausted every tool at my disposal and still no results. I know for a fact that Peeta keeps talking to Johanna. I overheard him on the phone again when I got home. It infuriates me and it makes me jealous and I don’t know how to deal with it. He’s never given me reason to feel jealous before which might be why it hits me so hard this time. I don’t want some other woman to be his confidant when he can’t open up to me.

Haymitch’s eyes trail from one of us to the other while we eat. I don’t know how much he knows about what’s going on and I swear I will throw a complete fit if Haymitch is on the list of people Peeta will confide in instead of me. Over the past few weeks things have been different around the dinner table and I’m sure Haymitch has noticed that but up until tonight I have done my best to sound as normal as possible and Peeta has at least made some effort to talk small during dinner. Tonight neither one of us says a word even when Haymitch tries to start up a conversation.

“I don’t know which one of you pissed off the other but you might want to learn to follow a very simple rule” says Haymitch after a while. “Never go to the dinner table angry.”

“I think that’s to never go to bed angry” I say sullenly.

“Oh at least one of you talks” notes Haymitch. He rises from his seat with a huff. “You’ll excuse me for a moment. If this is the way this meal is going to go I’m going to need something considerably stronger than Katniss’ blackcurrant juice to get me through. Be right back.”

He walks off into the dining room where we keep our very limited supply of alcoholic beverages. Once he’s out of the room I turn to Peeta who barely seems to be eating.

“Are you just going to sit there quietly all evening?” I snarl. When he doesn’t respond or look up I lost my temper. I smack my hand in the table, causing a large clatter of cutlery and porcelain. “Damn you, Peeta!”

This causes him to look up.

“What?” he asks, looking like he doesn’t understand what I’m mad about and can’t really be bothered to care.

“You walk around with the weight of the world on your shoulders and you won’t acknowledge to me that there’s something wrong even though it’s plain to see that you’re depressed. Now you won’t even talk during dinner?” Before I can stop myself I blurt out what’s been on my mind. “Your wife’s not good enough anymore but Johanna Mason is your new best friend? Maybe I should just go off to Seven and send her here and you can be happy with her and not have to bother with me anymore.”

He gives me a look that’s so full of anger that at first I think I’ve triggered an onset of his hijack flashbacks. But his eyes are steady, the pupils aren’t contracting and dilating the way they do during those onsets. He’s completely lucid and very angry. Well at least it’s a reaction.

He pushes his chair back with enough force that it almost tips over. Then he stands up and glares at me for a second before angrily striding out of the kitchen and disappearing up the stairs. I follow him with my eyes, barely noticing Haymitch who’s returned with a bottle of wine.

“Well now you’ve done it, sweetheart” he says dryly.

“Go away, Haymitch!” I snarl. I get up from my seat and walk towards the stairs to follow Peeta.

“So I guess dinner is over, then?” concludes Haymitch.

Ignoring him I hurry up the stairs. I know I took it too far but right now I’m too frustrated to feel bad about it. I’d rather Peeta and I yell and scream at each other for a while and then kiss and make up than dance around whatever issues are at work here. I’m beginning to worry that whatever the problem is with Peeta it pertains to me. I know I can be a handful and I know Haymitch was right when he once told me that I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve Peeta. I just don’t want Peeta to feel that way too.

I walk into our bedroom, expecting to find him there but the room is empty. Just to be sure I check the bathroom but he’s not there either. The next logical place to look is his painting room and I head back out into the hallway to go check there.

“You don’t mind if I eat, do you?” comes Haymitch’s voice from downstairs.

“ _Go away_ , Haymitch!” I yell.

The door to the drawing room is ajar and I push it open. Peeta’s not sitting on his favorite stool by the large easel where he does most of his paintings. I find him on the loveseat leaning against one armrest with his feet up and his legs serving as support for the sketchpad he’s drawing on. He no doubt hears me come in because I’m not very discreet but he doesn’t look up. I could care less if he went in here to be alone. I don’t recognize this behavior in him at all, not to the extent that has been going on for the past six or seven weeks.

“Peeta!” I bark his name rather than say it.

He looks up at me and I don’t know what I was expecting to see on his face but it’s not this. The anger seems gone and he’s back to being resigned.

“I’m going to pretend you never said what you said down there” he says. He turns his eyes back to his sketchpad. “Like I always do when you get hurtful.”

A lump forms in my throat. I know I’m going to regret what I said down in the kitchen. In all likelihood I’m going to regret it for a long time. It doesn’t matter if Peeta forgives me or not. He’s burdened enough as it is and I hurt him further. What’s more, there was a part of me that meant what I said this time unlike most other times when I say something insulting in my anger.

I stand there for a moment and then I leave. Nothing more is said between us that night and while we don’t exactly go to bed _angry_ we’re definitely not doing okay either.

 

 

My breaking point comes a week and a half later. I’m sitting on an overturned tree trunk in my glade, staring blankly at the forest, starting to become depressed as well. I have no desire to hunt but I leave the house anyway every morning because I can’t stand to be there all day with Peeta when he’s like this. I stayed home a few days ago and walked in on Peeta having an episode from his hijacking which he then told me has happened more and more often in the past couple of months. I’d rather not be at home to witness it so I take my refuge to the forest.

I’ve been sitting there for quite some time when Haymitch shows up and takes a seat next to me. I had thought I could care less what happens right now but his arrival perks my interest. I’ve never shown him to the glade before as far as I can remember and he’s never taken an interest. Perhaps he was with me when I visited here to shoot propos for the rebellion. I honestly can’t remember.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Making sure you’re alright.”

I snort and turn my eyes to the woodland.

“Does it seem like I’m alright?”

“I don’t know what goes on between you two when I’m not around…” begins Haymitch. “What I can deduce is that he’s depressed and you’re frustrated about it.”

“I’m not frustrated because he’s depressed” I say defensively. “He can’t help it; I know that better than anyone.”

“But you’re frustrated that he won’t let you help him.”

I nod and look down at my hands.

“Yeah.”

“Look, sweetheart…” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I can’t tell you why he doesn’t let you in. I always thought you were the one who put up the walls and he was the one who was always open.”

“He does open up” I say. Much to my shame and frustration tears begin to well up. “Just not with me.”

Before I can stop myself I begin to cry. I hate myself for being so weak and silly, especially in front of Haymitch. His arm wraps around my shoulders and he pulls me closer, offering my a literal shoulder to cry on.

“As long as he talks to _someone_ that should be good, right?” he says.

“No” I snivel. “Go ahead and think I’m horrible but I don’t want him to have to turn to somebody else to feel better. He’s supposed to turn to _me_. That’s the way it’s been for as long as we’ve been together and… and… Why does he talk to _Johanna_ but not me?”

“Not for any of the reasons you’re thinking right now, that much I’m sure of” says Haymitch comfortingly. “That boy loves you and I’m not sure he’s aware that other women exist anymore. You know that.”

“He doesn’t seem to know that _I_ exist anymore” I sob, wallowing in my misery and self-pity now that I have someone to talk to who wants to comfort me.

“Like I said, I don’t know why he’s not opening up to you” says Haymitch. “I can however make an educated guess. Whatever it is that’s bothering him he doesn’t want you to be bothered by it, too. He’s trying to protect you, sweetheart, the way he always has. Only this time he’s completely misguided and makes matters worse by trying to seclude you from whatever is going on.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask. My sobs begin to fade but now I’m feeling a whole other kind of worry. “What could possibly be so bad that he needs to protect me from it to this extent, huh? The only answers I can think of to that are highly unpleasant.”

“Just give him time, Katniss.”

“That’s the best you have to offer? I can’t stand watching him like this and the whole thing is driving both of us out of our minds.”

“Do you want me to try and talk to him?”

“No” I sigh. “Thanks but… What’s the use?” I force myself to smile. “I’m glad you came to talk to me, though.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

 

 

When I get home I’m still very emotional and a few more tears have fallen on the way back. Haymitch accompanies me the whole way, saying nothing but offering his silent support. We part ways by our back yards and he gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“It will be okay, sweetheart” he says. “You’ve been through worse than this.”

“Yeah but Peeta’s usually been there with me.”

At that Haymitch cackles.

“Now you’re just romanticizing. As I recall the Mockingjay made it through most of the war with Peeta Mellark trying to _kill_ her. Go home, Katniss, and do whatever you need to do to find your strength again. He’ll find his again too, eventually.”

He disappears into the pen where he keeps the geese and I can hear him telling them to calm down already. I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself, shivering even though the weather is mild. I’m already on the backside of the house and I decide to walk in through the back door. That way I might be able to sneak upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom for a long, hot bath without Peeta noticing that I’m home. I want some time to myself, to cry or scream or curse or do whatever I have to do to find that strength Haymitch was talking about.

I make it as far as into the living room before the plan falls apart. I had assumed Peeta would be in the kitchen working but instead I find him in his favorite armchair, sketching with a distant expression on his face. I must have made more noise coming inside than I thought because he looks up and the distant look changes into something more present as he frowns and begins to look concerned.

“Katniss? Is everything okay?”

I realize that it must be plainly visible on my face that I’ve just been crying. Pair that with the fact that I’m home early and it must seem like something’s happened to me out in the woods.

“Are you hurt?” asks Peeta and sets his sketchpad aside. “Did something happen?”

He gets up from his chair and looks at me with eyes full of concern. It’s enough to make me burst out crying again, for two reasons. Part of me is crying because on top of everything else he now has to be concerned about me and I’ve somehow managed to turn this around to be about me and not about him. Another part cries because I’m so relieved to see a genuine strong emotion in him other than sadness or dejectedness.

The next thing I know he’s walked over to me and pulled me close. His hand rests at the back of my head and I bury my face against his neck, wrapping my arms around him while I sob like a little girl. It feels so indescribably good to be in his embrace and to hear his voice gently shushing me. I never want to let go and I dread the moment he will.

He doesn’t let go. Somehow we end up in his chair with me curled up in his lap resting my head against his shoulder and his hand gently massaging my scalp. It is not lost on me, the irony that he is the one comforting me when he’s the one who’s been feeling so sad lately. I find out that he hasn’t done any baking today other than our breakfast bread because he just couldn’t be bothered. I wonder how many days that has happened.

“Care to tell me what happened to make you come home early, crying like that?” asks Peeta softly when I’ve calmed down a bit.

“Care to tell me what’s been bothering _you_?” I ask. I tilt my head and meet his eyes. “The fact that you’ve refused to ever since it started is what’s bothering _me_.”

“Katniss…”

“I mean it, Peeta. I don’t need you to share every thought that goes through your head but you can’t do this.” I try to tell what he’s thinking by looking at him but I can’t make sense of it. At least he’s present now. “You cannot shut me out this way. That’s not how it works. Do you know what it does to me to see you depressed and no matter what I say or do it doesn’t matter? I want to help you. Maybe I can’t but you need to at least give me the chance to try.” My hand reaches up and caresses his cheek. “I’m serious. You can’t do this.”

“There are some things I just _can_ ' _t_ talk about” says Peeta. “Not because I don’t want to but… I just can’t.”

“Except you can” I say sullenly. “I know you talk to Johanna.”

“Yeah” he says with the hint of a laugh. “You made that pretty clear.”

Haymitch’s words in the forest come back to me. Perhaps I should be grateful if she can help Peeta in some way that I can’t. I know that if the roles were reversed he would be thrilled about anyone who could make me feel better if he could not. Only I’m nowhere near as benevolent as Peeta and I can be much more possessive.

“You should know this about me by now” I sulk, turning my head back to where it started. “I’m selfish and I want you to myself and that includes being the one who shares your burdens. We’re a team, aren’t we? When you can lean on her but don’t even try to lean on me it feels like you’re taking something away from me.”

“I’m not” he insists. “And I don’t want you to feel like I am.”

“You are” I retort just as insistently. “It makes me jealous and I don’t like feeling that way. I don’t want there to be parts of you that you can’t share with me.”

“Sorry to disappoint” says Peeta in a tone that for a moment makes me worried that he’s drifting off into his mind again. Then he takes my hand and eyes it as he begins to play with my fingers. “I am deeply grateful that I can’t share this with you. The reason I talk to Johanna is because she was there with me. In the Capitol. I don’t have to try to explain the darkness of my cell or the smells or the dirt… She knows their torture chamber as well as I do. She knows the faceless white-clad people there and their display of torture devices. She knows what it felt like when they came to fetch you and brought you into that room. These are things I never ever want to explain to you in further detail than I just did and the thought of you having been there with me…” He seems to shudder a bit. “I think you understand. It’s just the same as with the Games. Only someone who’s been in the arena with you could ever know.”

I have turned my head again to look at him. His eyes seem a touch vacant again but at least he’s talking to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me this from the start?” I ask softly. “I _would_ have understood, just like you say. Furthermore, why haven’t you let me just… hold you? I don’t need to know every thought that torments you but it hurts to not be able to comfort you.”

“I’ve been keeping my distance” he confirms. “You don’t understand, Katniss, it…” A deep sigh. “When this all began to come over me it started with one of those hijacked moments, you know? It brought back memories I had suppressed really deep down. Once it started I couldn’t stop it and most of the time I didn’t want to be too close to you.”

“Why not?” I insist.

“You know why” he says softly. “I cannot always tell what is real and what is not… These past weeks I’ve been… afraid. I haven’t trusted myself around you. I haven’t trusted my own memories. Maybe it’s strange but I haven’t wanted your arms to comfort me when I’ve been obsessing over memories from the period of time when they turned me into a weapon against you.”

“I’m not afraid” I tell him.

“I am. Not all my memories of you are pleasant. When I was in the Capitol I didn’t know what to believe and…”

“Okay” I nod.

“No it’s not okay.”

“I didn’t mean _that_ is okay… I mean... I understand.” I look away, trying to find something else to fixate my eyes on. “I just miss you, that’s all. We’re meant to be a team and I’m now I feel like I’m by myself and I don’t know what to do with that.” A tear escapes from my eyes and rolls down my cheek. I hate myself for crying again. “I really miss you.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s hardly more than a mumble. He harks and speaks in a more normal tone. “I’m sorry, Katniss.” His fingers let go of mine and grab my chin, carefully turning my head to look at him. “I swore to myself that I would never make you cry unless they were happy tears.”

Deciding I’ve had enough of sadness and guilt and missing him I silence him before he can continue. I silence him by pressing my lips firmly against his. There is a moment of nothing more than me kissing him but then he slowly opens his mouth and begins to reciprocate the kiss. It ends up being deep and long and for the first time since this all began I feel good. The happiness doesn’t fade when our lips part even though I can see in his eyes that he’s still not feeling well. I wasn’t expecting one kiss to cure his depression. All I’m asking for is the chance to be there for him until he feels better.

“From now on you don’t shut me out, okay?” I say. “Let me carry you when you’re weak, same as you always carry me.”

He nods and I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.

 

 

A few nights later we make love again. Well, the first time it probably doesn’t qualify as love making. It’s quick, uncoordinated and fumbling. It’s also the first time we have sex standing up, him pressing me against the wall, but not the last.

Later on when we’re in bed it’s different. It happens over and over with an hour or two of sleep here and there. Sometimes it’s slow and tender, other times passionate and full of hunger. Each time it’s full of longing and tenderness. The last time we make love that night the sun is beginning to rise. When we’re finished and he’s resting on top of me I feel content and fulfilled. I can tell he’s not out of the woods yet but things have begun to turn around. I don’t know what caused that to happen. Maybe it’s just the natural order of things. Maybe Peeta just needed time to process all of these memories and now he’s finding his way back again. I like to think that maybe it was me and the fact that we began to reconnect again a few days ago.

Whatever the reason, he eventually returns to being the same happy, hopeful Peeta I need in order to function. He has other episodes of depression over the years but never as severe or as long lasting as this one. It remains one of the most difficult periods of our married life.

 

 

When I look back at my life after the war there are surprisingly few memories that hurt, not counting the pain inflicted by the terrors I have lived and the losses I have suffered. I have grieved for my sister until I thought I could not bear it anymore and part of me will never stop grieving for her just like I’ll never stop grieving for my father or for my long lost innocence. I have struggled with finding a way to cope with everything bad that has happened to me and the nightmares that won’t go away serve to remind me that there are things you can never get over. If you are responsible for the loss of life that will always haunt you.

Most of my painful memories are from the time before we began to rebuild our lives. Since then I have had my moments of being sick, getting hurt and dealing with practical issues in life that I wish I hadn’t had to deal with but these moments are easily forgotten in the long run and leave no permanent scars, physically or emotionally. The moments that do leave scars have almost exclusively been connected to Peeta and along with his deepest period of depression there is one in particular that stands out.

It happens about a month before Peeta’s twenty-seventh birthday and it is mid-winter. It doesn’t start out with anything bad happening to Peeta. It’s actually me who is stricken first. I come down with the flu and it hits me hard. I spend a week in bed with a high fever, running nose and sore throat wishing I could just sleep for a month and wake up feeling healthy. Peeta takes care of me, making sure I eat and drink, ushering me into the shower which I always hate until I’ve stepped out and feel refreshed, and does a dozen little things he probably doesn’t think I notice but which matter a lot to me. He even uses the ointment for his leg to rub the area around my nose trying to keep it from getting sore from all the times I wipe it with tissues.

Naturally he ends up getting sick too. I’m starting to feel better right about the time he falls ill and the first two days I think he will go through the same stages as I have and expect him to recover after about the same number of days it takes me.

Instead he gets worse.

His fever goes higher than mine did and curling up to him in bed brings back horrible memories from our first arena. While I followed a pattern of being sleeping for a while, then being bored and trying to read or watch TV for about an hour before feeling so sick I had to go to bed again, Peeta never gets out of bed other than to go to the bathroom. After four days the flu leads to a pneumonia and that’s when I start to get scared. I’ve seen people die from just the flu and I’ve watched my mother trying in vain to cure pneumonia.

In the Capitol there is some form of medication that can help cure what ails Peeta. It’s never been sold here because it’s too expensive but I can afford it. Even if I couldn’t I would have spent all the money that I have and I would have sold every last sellable item in our possession, including myself if need be. Anything to give him the medicine he needs. Unfortunately there is no medicine to buy. Peeta already called and asked while I was sick. The flu has been raging there too, and they did not make enough medicine to go around. What little they have left is reserved in case somebody _important_ gets sick. Just another reminder that while we may have had our roles to play we certainly aren’t anybody’s priority anymore.

All I can do for Peeta is try and manage his symptoms as best I can. I talk to Mother over the phone and she gives me some advice but I don’t know enough to properly help him. No matter what I do it seems his fever stays high and his headache won’t go away and his throat remains sore. I’m constantly thinking back to our first arena and how I couldn’t heal him and I have to fight hard with myself not to succumb to the fear and darkness that comes with those memories.

When his cough sets in it’s much worse than mine. Soon I can’t bear to listen to it anymore. Every time he coughs it comes from deep in his lungs and his breathing sounds so labored and it begins to become very clear to me that he might not recover.

I last about a day and a half. Then I dress myself in the warmest clothes I can find and take my refuge to the wooden loveseat on the front porch. It’s biting cold and I’m shivering slightly. I know I should not be out here; I’m not quite recovered yet myself and I will be of even less help to Peeta if I get sick again. I just can’t stand to be in there. Not only for the fear that he might die on me but for the horrible memories of another time when he was stricken with fever and possibly dying with me powerless to do anything about it.

I think I can hear him cough, even from out here. I can’t be sure if it’s real or just my imagination but it frightens me to my very core every time I think I hear it. I know I’m being selfish and cowardly. He took care of me when I was sick. He never left my side for long and made sure I had everything I needed. If I had been the one who had gotten the worst of it there is no way he would leave me alone to go sit and freeze out on the porch. He would be with me. Now that he needs me to be there for him I run and hide.

It’s around noon on a cold December’s day. The ground is covered with snow and the wind is still. I don’t know the exact temperature but every breath I take comes out in a little cloud. I’m not wearing anything on my hands and I hide them in my armpits to try and keep them warm. What does it matter if I freeze? The person who matters the most to me is in his bed, possibly dying. What do I care if I lose limbs to frostbite or come down with an even worse case of the flu myself?

My solitude is broken when Haymitch leaves his house and walks over to ours. I brace myself for the possibility of an upcoming lecture on how I need to get back inside and stay healthy and I pray all he wants to do is offer me something to drink. As he gets closer I realize he’s not here for either of those reasons.

He walks up the steps to the porch without saying a word but the look he gives me speaks it’s clear language. He’s disappointed in me. In fact I think he despises me a little in that moment. He’s seen me sitting out here and has figured out why I won’t go inside so he’s come to do what I can’t. With a snort in my direction he opens the door and walks into the house. During the brief seconds when the door is open I can clearly hear Peeta’s coughs and it makes me almost nauseous.

I don’t know for how long I remain out on the porch. The sun begins to set, which happens earlier during winter than during summer but still indicates that I’ve been out here much longer than I should. I haven’t been able to feel my toes in a while and I’m pretty sure I will need to spend an hour or more by the fireplace to stop freezing. Or I could do the decent thing and go upstairs to my husband and crawl into bed with him. My body would probably help lower his fever a degree or two in its current state and his body could warm mine up. The fact that I would rather sit out here and shiver than tend to Peeta says a lot of things about me that I wish weren’t true. The only person who I thought might be able to understand is Haymitch but it’s clear he’s not on my side on this one.

I close my eyes hard and wish for strength. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I be there and help him through this? It’s not about the difficulties of watching someone you love sick or in pain. It’s something else entirely that drives me out of my own house and into the cold December day while my life partner fights to get better upstairs in our bedroom. It’s the fact that nowhere inside that house can I escape the constant reminders that I am not guaranteed to keep him. He promised me that he would be mine until he died but nobody ever promised me that his death would happen after my own or at an old age. He could live until he’s a hundred but he could also die before he’s twenty-seven. If that happens what do I do? For so many years I’ve forbade myself to even think about it but now I can’t keep those thoughts at bay. Without Peeta how can I survive? I’ve grieved for so many people but grieving my soulmate would be worse than the others, even Prim.

Eventually I have to go back in the house. Peeta is not the only one with a cough and even though mine is a lot milder it eventually becomes so persistent that I realize I need to get inside and warm up. My arms and legs are stiff from the cold and I stagger like an old lady as I rise from the loveseat and go to open the door.

There is not a sound to be heard at first. The heat inside feels like a hot meal when you’re starving and I kick off my shoes in a hurry and unwrap the scarf from around my neck. The kitchen is empty and so is the dining room and the living room but Haymitch has started a fire that cackles comfortingly and offers the warmth I so desperately need. I walk over and hold out my hands to try and bring them back from their frozen state. My fingers and my feet hurt really bad as the blood starts to return to them and warm them up again. I hear no sounds of coughing other than my own. It takes almost five minutes for the coughs to cease and I can catch my breath and listen. Peeta must be asleep. The only other alternative is so bad I can’t dare to think about it.

I stay by the fireplace for probably half an hour, feeling a little bit warmer when I go back to the hallway to take off my coat and hang it up on its place next to Peeta’s. My fingers gently caress the fabric of his dark grey coat and with a lump on my throat I pick up a long, dark strain of hair that’s caught on it. He has to make it through this. If he doesn’t I don’t know what I will do to myself.

Forcing the thought from my mind I walk inside the kitchen. I’m hungry but I don’t feel like eating. I would however like something warm to drink, both to warm myself up and to prevent further coughing. The kettle sits on the stovetop and I switch the stove on to preheat it. I walk over to the sink and fill the kettle with water. When I turn the faucet off I hear steps coming down the stairs. They don’t sound like Peeta’s so they must be Haymitch’s.

“Well, well, look who decided she dares to come inside” says my old mentor dryly as he walks into the kitchen. I focus on putting the kettle on the stove and don’t answer him. “You still don’t deserve him and you have no intention of ever trying to either, do you?” He walks over and stands right next to me, switching on another plate of the stove. Not until now do I notice a big pot sitting on the stove. “He’s awake, in case you give a damn.”

My eyes are fixated on the kettle. I can’t look at Haymitch or the fear and sadness building inside of me might brim over and cause me to cry. I take a deep breath, swallow hard and let the air out in a trembling sigh.

“I’m scared” I say in what is barely more than a whisper.

I hope Haymitch can understand. It doesn’t seem like it when he replies.

“Cry me a river, sweetheart.” He lifts up the lid from the pot to stir its contents and I see that he’s heating up meat soup. “What do you have to be so damn scared about anyway?”

I clear my throat, hoping it won’t tremble when I answer. I can hear a series of coughs from upstairs and each one stabs me like a knife.

“If he dies… I can’t live.”

Haymitch snorts.

“It’s the _flu_. He’ll live. No thanks to you, though. You’ve seen him through worse in the arena. Why you’re failing him now is beyond me.”

The water in the kettle begins to boil. With a trembling hand I lift it from the stove and fill a large mug with the steaming hot liquid. I don’t even know which flavor tea I’m making for myself but I could care less what it tastes like. I add two lumps of sugar and walk over to the kitchen table, taking a seat on one chair and putting my feet up on another. I stir the tea for a few seconds before using both hands to lift the mug to my mouth. I’m still trembling though I don’t know if it’s because I’m still not warm or because of what Haymitch said.

He remains by the stove paying no attention to me. When he deems the soup hot enough he walks over and opens a cabinet to grab a bowl. Still without speaking to me he fills it up with soup for Peeta. Haymitch will never be a grand chef but he’s not a bad cook. I’m grateful that he’s made soup for my husband when all I’ve been doing is sitting out on the porch choosing to freeze rather than be in the same house with the one I love.

“If you really mean what you said…” says Haymitch slowly while he grabs a spoon and a handful of napkins.

“I do” I say, cringing as another round of coughs come from upstairs.

“Then I understand your actions even less.” He pauses by the door and shakes his head at me. “He’s really unwell up there. He should have you to look after him; that’s your job.”

“I know” I say with a touch of anger.

“You tell me you can’t live if he dies yet you’re avoiding him. Seems to me that if you have that fear then you’ll want to make sure you live while you still can. Think it will hurt less if this kills him and you wasted the last days of his life?”

Tears begin to fall down my face but Haymitch either doesn’t care or doesn’t see it. My eyes are glued to the bottom of my tea mug so I hear rather than see him leaving the kitchen and going back up the stairs. Up to those damn coughs that won’t stop. After a minute I flee to the living room where I might not hear it as clearly.

I spend the next hour or so sitting in Peeta’s favorite chair, sipping my tea until well past the point where it’s gone cold. Haymitch is right. I shouldn’t be wasting time with Peeta just because I’m afraid. I should be making the most out of every single second. He’s also right that Peeta probably isn’t going to die at all and I’m just frightening myself over nothing and in the process abandoning my husband when he really needs me. Then again, failing the people I love the most is something of a specialty of mine. I’ve been doing it so long that I can hardly remember a time when I didn’t.

My heart aches when I think of Prim, the one I tried hardest to protect. I was far too young to be responsible for her when our father died but our mother could not be counted upon so I had to step up. In a way it’s like my whole life between ages eleven and sixteen were about protecting Prim culminating in volunteering to take her place in the Games. Everything that was set in motion in that moment, everything I did in the arenas and as the Mockingjay, everything was rooted in trying to protect my little sister. All the prices I had to pay, all the scars I earned, all the pain and suffering… It was all to protect her, always on some level. Then she died and it had all been in vain. I think that’s one of the reasons I fell so badly into depression at that time. My way of coping with the horrors was to see the benefit from them and that benefit was Prim’s life and safety. Then she died.

In the first arena I was supposed to protect Rue. Logically I know that I never promised to get her out of there nor did she ever think that but we were allies and I was the older one, the stronger one. I was supposed to protect her for as long as possible and keep her alive for as long as I could. Instead she died tangled in a net with a spear through her body. I should have known at that moment that I would fail to protect Prim as well. Rue’s death happened the way it did because I left her, because I _had_ to leave her for a while. Just like I could not always be with Prim and protect her. I always keep Rue somewhere in the back of my mind and her death never ceases to haunt me.

Then there’s Peeta. Somehow I did manage to get him out of the first arena alive but my motivation for doing so had little to do with concern for him. The second time we were in the Games together it was my mission to make him the sole survivor. He was going to walk out of there safe and sound and that was all there was to it. There ended up being several survivors of the 75th and last Hunger Games yet still I failed to keep Peeta safe. He lived, yes, but only to be tortured and altered by the Capitol. The one thing he told me he feared – them changing who he was – that’s what they did to him and it should never have happened. I failed him. I know that’s not just my own subjective, guilt-ridden opinion. It was clear from Haymitch’s face that he too thought I failed Peeta.

Before my mind can go further in the list of people I failed to protect I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. I look up from my tea mug and set it aside. Haymitch walks in and looks wearier than he did when we met in the kitchen. He runs a hand through his greasy hair and yawns.

“I’m going home” he says.

“Peeta…” I begin.

“Is asleep. Do you think you can manage through the night?” It’s not a question of concern but one of consternation. “I’ll be back in the morning. He could use a shower, badly, but right now I don’t want to wake him.”

“Has he…”

“Asked about you? No. He knows better.”

I want to go over there and slap him but maybe he’s right. Haymitch snorts at me and leaves through the back door. I walk up and make sure it locks, watching him waddle through the snow back to his own house. Whatever he thinks of me right now he’s probably right.

Slowly but deliberately I walk through the downstairs part of the house getting everything ready for the night. Then I head up the stairs. I have to. There are other places to sleep than in our bed but at this moment I don’t know if I can justify to myself that I would choose to sleep anywhere else just because Peeta is very sick.

Our bedroom is dark and the air is heavy and thick with smells of ointment and tea and sweat. I walk over to a window and open it slightly. It won’t do him any harm to get some cold air in the room. He prefers sleeping with the window open anyway, no matter how cold it is outside, and he needs some fresh oxygen. Before I open the window I pull the curtain aside and the moonlight provides some amount of illumination. Haymitch has probably done a fine job looking after Peeta but true to form he’s not bothered with anything remotely related to cleaning up. I walk quietly around the room and gather napkins, tissues, all sorts of garbage. Then I collect all the dirty dishes, including the soup bowl which is almost empty. I try not to look at Peeta who is rolled over on his side on the half of the bed that’s farthest from the door. I don’t need to look at him to hear his labored breathing. At least he isn’t coughing.

When there’s nothing left to clean or tend to in the room I go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. I’m exhausted and in dire need of some rest. My arm feels like it weighs a hundred pounds when I lift it to brush my teeth and I try my best not to look at my own reflection in the mirror, fearing the haggard face that no doubt would be staring back at me. I slip out of my clothes, pushing the pile of them with my foot into a corner. I put on my pajamas and grab Peeta’s robe, comforted by its familiarity and how it smells of him.

Walking back out into the bedroom I stop for a moment. Right now Peeta looks peaceful. He’s sound asleep and in the darkness I can’t see his flushed face or feel his burning cheeks. The room is getting cold so I walk over and close the window. The next step should be to crawl into bed with him but I don’t want to. I’m afraid it’s going to bring back more memories from when we were in the cave.

Instead I walk around the bed and take a seat in the chair by the other window. It’s right by the bedside and Haymitch has no doubt been sitting in it while he was up here. I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around my knees. Now that I’m closer and my eyes have adjusted to the dark I can see that Peeta is not as peaceful as he looked from further away. He’s frowning, looking labored. Going by the sound that accompanies his every breath it must hurt to breathe. I can’t recall ever having a pneumonia myself but it sounds painful. It looked painful all those times people were brought to my mother and she tried to save them. Sometimes she could. Sometimes she couldn’t.

There’s a shift in Peeta’s breathing and he wakes up. His eyes look watery and weak but his lips form a smile when he sees me sitting there.

“Hi” he manages. He’s almost lost his voice entirely.

“Hush” I say. “Save your voice. Don’t talk.”

He nods and swallows, closing his eyes as he does so. I’m not sure if it’s because his throat is sore or if it’s stuffy. He opens his eyes again and keeps them on me. He looks happy to see me. Once again I feel that pang of guilt.

“Haymitch went home” I tell him.

He nods. A small cough shakes his body a little and I hold my breath to see if more will follow. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then Peeta looks over at the nightstand and the pitcher of ice water Haymitch left there.

“Could you…” he begins to try and say.

I’m quickly out of my chair grabbing the pitcher so he doesn’t try to do it himself. I’d rather he didn’t move more than necessary. With a surprisingly steady hand I fill up the empty glass with water and hand it to him. He lifts himself up on his left elbow, trying to force down another cough, and takes the glass. On an impulse I place my cool hand on his burning hot brow. He gives me a brief glance which seems thankful. He’s frighteningly hot and my hand is not going to do much to help with that. I get up and walk to the bathroom where I run a washcloth under the faucet until it’s ice cold. I wring it and then bring it back out to him.

“Thank you” he croaks, setting the glass back down on the nightstand.

The cold water makes him cough but it passes after only about a minute. I try to ignore that feeling I get with each of his coughs and try to think of something that might actually be helpful to him. When the coughing subsides he lays down on his back and takes a few deep breaths. I place the washcloth on his brow and he nods, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Peeta” I manage to tell him. “I was… out.”

“Hey…” he croaks, opening one eye. “It’s okay.”

I shake my head.

“No. It’s not.”

He closes his eyes again and his head rolls to the side. He lets out a tired sigh and it reminds me of my own fatigue. I don’t know how I’m even still sitting up. My body is weak and weary both from my own recent sickness and from worry.

Peeta’s robe ends up folded and flung over the back of the chair. Carefully I go around the bed and climb in under the sheets. I scoot over until I’m right beside Peeta and I swallow hard to try and get rid of the lump in my throat. There’s nothing more to be done for him tonight. All he needs right now is his rest. I tentatively lay my head down on his arm and wrap an arm and a leg across him. I feel him wrap his arm around me and pull me just a little closer. He’s so very hot, burning with fever. Maybe I should have left the window open during the night?

He coughs a few times and I lift myself up to give him space. When the coughing stops I reach out my hand and move a strain of sweaty hair from his forehead.

“If you’re not better by the day after tomorrow I’m taking my bow and arrow and going to the Capitol to get medicine for you. Let them try and stop me.”

“I’m okay” he mouths.

"You’re not.” I lie back down the way I was and Peeta’s lips, hot from his fever, kiss my brow. “Just so you know… There’s nothing you could do that I cannot forgive you for except dying. Don’t you dare go and die and leave me here to manage the rest of my life without you.” Images of my father, Prim, Gale, my mother, all those who have mattered to me and have been lost in one way or another flash before my eyes. “I can’t handle missing you. If you force me to for the rest of my life I’ll never forgive you.”

He kisses my forehead again by way of answering. I close my eyes and nuzzle to him, letting sleep take over my exhausted body.

It takes another five days before Peeta gets better. I don’t go to the Capitol, mostly because I realize that by the time I get back home Peeta will either have recovered or died. I do manage to pull myself together and help take care of him but Haymitch comes over every day and takes the bulk of the responsibility. There’s a part of me that never forgives myself for my cowardice during those December days but in the grand scheme of things it’s not the biggest regret of my life.

When it’s Haymitch’s turn to get sick I make him stay at our house and I look after him until he’s better. I owe him that much.

 

 

I awake from a dream so terrifying it causes me to bolt up into a sitting position and scream like a banshee. Even Peeta, who is more than used to my night terrors, seems shaken when he flies into a sitting position as well, wraps one arm around my shoulders and places his other hand on my pregnant belly.

“Katniss?” he gasps. “What is it?”

“A dream” I sob, not wanting him to worry that it might be the baby. “A dream... The worst one yet.”

“Tell me about it.”

I furiously shake my head. I can’t talk about it. Putting the horrors I just saw into words make them all the more terrifying. Tonight I didn’t dream about people I have seen die horrible deaths or people whose deaths are on my shoulders nor did I dream about Peeta being tortured by President Snow. I put a hand on my stomach and feel the baby moving in there. It calms me briefly but the fear is almost paralyzing and I wish for the umpteenth time that I hadn’t agreed to this.

“What did you dream, Katniss?” Peeta urges.

Instead of replying I break down sobbing, turning my head to his chest for comfort. His arms wrap closely around me and he holds me as tight as he can now that I have a pregnant belly preventing full contact. He doesn’t say anything else, just shushes me and kisses my head, doing what he can to calm me down.

After a few minutes I dare to try and close my eyes but they quickly fly open again. Closing them means bringing back the things I saw in my nightmare and I can’t handle that. Parts of it has already started to fade away but the most gruesome details are still vivid in my mind. My body covered in blood from a gushing wound in my belly where someone has just cut the child from my womb. My baby, defenceless and naked, screaming at the top of its lungs as it’s being taken away from me. Horrible images of ways they torture my child as I lay there dying, incapable of moving. There’s no calming down and going back asleep with those images stuck in my head.

“Don’t let me go” I whisper to Peeta.

“You know I won’t” he replies.

“The baby” I manage to say. “I dreamt they took the baby.”

“It was just a dream” he shushes me gently. “I would never let that happen.”

“I couldn’t defend it” I sob into his chest.

“It’s alright, honey” he assures me. “You’re fine. The baby is fine and safe and protected. It has you and it has me and we have each other. Dreams are terrifying but they’re just dreams. Nobody can harm you anymore.”

“But what if I can’t?” I sob. “What if I we can’t protect it? I couldn’t protect Prim. I couldn’t protect Rue. I couldn’t even protect you!”

He doesn’t answer. Probably because there is no answer. We both know that I am right and we both know that I am irrational. I was unable to protect my sister, my ally in the arena, my partner. Yet those were extreme circumstances which we have no reason to believe our child will ever face.

“Nobody will take the baby” says Peeta gently after a few minutes when my sobbing hasn’t decreased. “I won’t let that happen, you know that.”

His words aren’t comforting. The images keep flashing before my eyes. It doesn’t matter that there is no more President Snow, no more President Coin, no more evil Capitol that tortures people. I’m no longer the Mockingjay nor am I a Hunger Games’ victor under Snow’s control and there’s no longer any need to torture my loved ones to get to me. But if there is one thing I have learned from life it’s that you’re never safe and you’re a fool if you ever think otherwise.

“What’s to say there won’t be another uprising?” I mumble, calming myself a little but not much. “What’s to say there won’t be people out to target us for the roles we played? They might think it foolish to go after you or me directly but our baby is different. An easy target.”

“There’s no use thinking like that, Katniss” says Peeta. “The war is over. The future is being built before our very eyes and it is bright and peaceful.”

“Our baby’s still not safe” I insist. “It might be killed in an accident or by disease or...” I snivel. “Sometimes it’s not even those who die that are the worst off.”

“Alright, alright” says Peeta in the tone you reserve for irrational children. “Let’s not think along those lines.”

“How can you not?”

“It’s true that our child will get sick a few times during his or her life” says Peeta. “And fall down and scrape a knee, maybe break an arm sometime... But that’s not what I think about. I think about how this baby is going to get to know happiness and laughter. With any luck this child will someday get to feel for someone what you and I feel for one another.” He kisses the top of my head. “You’ve known so much pain, darling. Sometimes you forget all the wonders of the world.”

“I just hope those wonders will be worth the pain” I sigh.

“They will be” assures Peeta, caressing my stomach with one hand.

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

“All the heartache I felt over you was worth it the day you told me you love me too. All the wounds I suffered during the revolution, both physical and emotional, are worth it when I see people around us having a future. It’s just the way it works, Katniss.”

“I hope so. I hope this kid will inherit your disposition and not mine.”

“Hey...” says Peeta comfortingly. “I know you feel like everything you did to keep Prim safe, from volunteering at the reaping to going to kill Snow, was made in vain by her death. I don’t agree with that notion but that’s something we can discuss later. Right now I think it might be of help to you to remind yourself that even if you couldn’t help your sister those actions were not in vain. Our son or daughter is going to benefit immensely from them. You helped make a safer world for him or her to grow up in. And Katniss? Everything will turn out okay.”

“Thank you” I tell him. Somehow just the words don’t seem like enough and I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a long, tender kiss.

“Everything will be okay” he says.

I manage to smile and the paralyzing fear finally begins to release its hold. I don’t know if he’s right or not but at least he’s able to make me hope so. He’s still that dandelion in the spring, that promise of a better future. I have never loved him more for it.


	6. Gale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the by far longest chapter in this story. It wasn't meant to be this long at the start and I almost edited out a large chunk of the middle but in the end I decided to leave it in. I've re-written and edited stuff for this chapter countless times and I'm still not happy with it but I can't be bothered trying to re-write it again so I'm letting it be the way it is. Hope it doesn't bore you!

Peeta wants me to start taking it easy now that I am half a year into my pregnancy but I just can’t stand the thought of doing nothing all day. So I walk down to the town in the morning, starting to get tired before I’m even there and knowing it’s going to be hell walking all the way back, especially with food in my bag. Yet I am too stubborn to give up and if someone were to offer me a ride I would probably decline. As long as there is no threat to the baby I intend to charge forward.

I return home half an hour later than I would have if I wasn’t pregnant and I’m barely through the door when I toss my bag on the floor and sink down in a comfortable old armchair I had Peeta place right by the entrance for this very purpose. I prop my feet, which I haven’t really seen in a while now, up on the conveniently placed stool and try to catch my breath, one hand nervously resting on my belly to see if there will be any sign of life in there. I still feel absolute terror whenever the baby reminds me it’s alive but now that it does so more often I’ve found it’s even more frightening when it’s too still for too long. It has been explained to me that sometimes when I move around it lulls the baby to sleep which is why it doesn’t move for a while but that is not a comforting thought. It sleeps! It’s not even born yet but already it sleeps. The closer I get to the birth the more human the baby becomes in my mind and it adds to my fear.

Panting slightly I pull one of my thick mittens off my hands, blowing hot air on my fingers to help warm them up. It is chilly out but no snow yet, even though it’s November. Once the snow starts to fall and the streets become slippery I have a sneaking suspicion I will be confined to my home a great portion of the time. Peeta won’t allow me to risk slipping and falling when I’m in this condition and I have to agree with him on that point. Still the idea of staying cooped up indoors for the next three-or-so months does not thrill me.

No doubt drawn from his baking by the sounds of my not-so-graceful entrance Peeta comes walking in from the kitchen, stopping to pick up the bag on the floor. He doesn’t open it to see what’s inside which for some reason annoys me today.

“It’s rabbit” I tell him, groaning as I try to sit up more straight. “Those two kids still have a long ways to go before they’re real competent hunters. I know there’s better game out there than _rabbits_. Or maybe they sell me the smaller findings which is rather rude when you think about it, considering I’m bringing home food for three and not just us two.”

Peeta doesn’t reply. He kneels by the stool and starts to massage my feet which instantly turns me from irritation to relaxation. I lean back again and let out a content sigh. Then I notice the frown on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“Gale is here.”

I’m too surprised to say anything at first. Gale? In former District 12? He hasn’t set foot here since the war. And what exactly does Peeta mean by _here_? Is he in the house? Before I can begin to ask questions Peeta begins to answer them.

“He came by about an hour after you’d left for town. I had no idea he was coming. His boss back in former Two wants to know more about the arrangements we have here for those who are too sick to feed themselves and their families and Gale volunteered to go and look into it on site. I bet the look on my face was priceless when I answered his knock on the door...” He doesn’t look entirely pleased and it makes me wonder why. “He asked for you but I told him you were out. I invited him in to wait but he said he’d rather come back at a later time and that he has other places he wants to visit while he’s here. His meeting is tomorrow morning so he has the rest of the day off to do whatever he likes and I think what he would like is to spend some time with you. He didn’t leave a number where he could be reached but...”

“There’s only one place Gale would like to visit here” I say.

“That’s what I thought, too” says Peeta and rises to his feet. He reaches out a hand to me and helps me stand. “Do you feel up for it? You could wait for him to come back here if you’re tired.”

He doesn’t seem very excited about the idea of me heading out to the woods to spend time with Gale but he doesn’t seem to want to actively discourage it either. I give him a kiss on the cheek and a smile. I haven’t seen Gale in a few years now and only spoken to him on the phone twice since we last saw one another. I can’t help but feel excited about the prospect of talking to him and meeting up with him at our old spot in the forest sounds even better.

“I think the baby and I could use a little more fresh air” I say.

Peeta nods.

“At least let me drive you to the Meadow” he says.

“You have bread in the oven” I point out.

“Actually, no” he says. “I have cakes to decorate but that can wait for thirty minutes. Come inside for a moment, have something warm to drink, then I’ll take you.”

I follow him into the kitchen. It smells of freshly baked bread and I wince a little. Though normally I love that smell it’s often a little too much for my stomach nowadays. With a huff I take a seat on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. I’ve grown to deeply appreciate these stools in the past few weeks since they’re much easier for me to sit down on than a lower chair, even though they’re not too comfortable to sit on for too long.

Peeta grabs a pot and turns to me.

“Hot milk? Hot chocolate? Tea?”

“Tea.”

He busies himself with setting the pot down and grabbing the tea kettle instead, filling it up with water. I’m barely aware of what he’s doing. My mind is on Gale. We haven’t seen each other in a long while now and we haven’t seen each other _here_ in sixteen years. I’ve long since stopped thinking of the glade in the woods as _our_ glade but now he’s back there. What will it feel like to sit there with him again after all these years?

“How did he look?” I ask after a few minutes. Peeta gives me a look. “He works hard in former Two. Does it show on him?”

“He looks the same” answers Peeta. “Do you want camomile or blackcurrant?” He grabs a large mug from the cabinet. “He looks older, I guess. Other than that, the same. Still has that beard.” He turns and looks at me. “You should go change before we head out. Put on something warmer and more fitted for the woods.” He walks over and sets the steaming mug down in front of me. His lips press against my forehead. “Drink your tea. I’ll be ready when you are.”

 

 

I make my way out into the woods and towards our old meeting spot. If he is indeed there he’ll be able to hear me coming several minutes before I actually arrive. I’m not even almost graceful and I hate it but there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t see where I’m setting my feet and my balance is thrown by the weight that keeps adding fast on my front.

When I reach our old spot Gale is there, looking out on the woods where we shared some of the best times we had before the war. It’s still strange to think about it. We were so poor back then, barely getting by at all and under the thumb of the Capitol. Yet somehow we were also free, impossible as that may seem. We were young and we had our whole lives ahead of us and even though we thought we knew what suffering was we didn’t have a clue yet.

Gale looks up at me and by the look on his face I can tell Peeta didn’t warn him about my condition. Gale looks almost as if he thinks I’m going to burst wide open any minute, his eyes wide with shock and his mouth open slightly. Deciding that the best course of action is to not make a big deal out of it I walk over, or waddle rather, and take a seat on a tree stump that’s been there since the storm last fall knocked down a couple of trees. I raise my eyebrow at Gale, wondering if I should be amused or concerned by the look on his face.

“Katniss...” he stutters after a while. “I... I had no idea.”

“Oh, about what Haymitch refers to as the bun Peeta put in my oven?” I laugh a little at the absurdity of my old mentor’s sense of humour. “No I guess it would be a surprise to you... All these years we’ve been married and I don’t get pregnant until now.” Smiling at him I brush a strain of hair from my face. It’s good to see him again and I don’t want my unborn child to be the focus of this moment. “You’re not the only one taken by surprise. I had no idea you would be coming back home.”

“This is not home, Katniss” Gale says sharply and looks away.

I pause for a moment, not sure what to say to that. I suppose he’s right. He’s been living in former District 2 for nearly half his life now and has built a new home for himself there. Still to me these woods will always be home no matter where else I reside and they will always be connected in my mind with Gale.

I let my eyes look out over the forest where we spent so much time together during my early teens. In some ways it is the same but I realize now that it has also changed a lot. You don’t notice it when you’re there every day but it occurs to me that I can spot several differences from when I was last here with him. The blueberries that grow beneath a large tree not five feet from where I’m sitting were not there when Gale and I used to meet up here. Gone are the blackberries we used to eat. Some of the trees that sheltered us then are gone now while new sprouts have shot up to begin to take their place. It is still our glade but it’s more mine now than his.

I wait to let Gale be the first one to speak even though it’s rather cold for a November day and the coat I’m wearing doesn’t close properly with my belly in the way. Lucky for me there’s no cold wind blowing but I can still see my breath with every exhale. It seems to take forever for Gale to say anything so finally I decide to break the silence.

“So how come you--” I begin but his voice cuts me off.

“I never actually thought it would happen.”

I close my mouth again and wait for him to continue. I reach inside my satchel and pull out the large woollen scarf Greasy Sae gave me about ten years ago. Shuddering in the wind I wrap it around myself and rub my hands together to keep them warm. Gale casts a quick glance at me but then goes back to looking out over the glade.

“All these years... I kept telling myself you chose him out of default.”

I open my mouth to speak but have no idea what to say to that so I close it again. Gale picks up a small rock and tosses it absentmindedly.

“I told myself that things would have been different if... I mean, if I hadn’t...” He groans and runs a hand through his beard. “I guess I wanted to think that your heart belonged to me but given the circumstances we... Things were so complicated after the Games and... I mean, I knew you could never get over my hand in Prim’s death.”

“No” I nod. “I could never.”

“When I heard you were with him I allowed myself to believe it happened because he was there and I wasn’t, you know?” he continues. “Not because you necessarily loved him romantically but because you had become bound together by the Hunger Games and he was the only person who had lived through it with you. I told myself that you chose him, stayed with him not because you were in love but because you had a companionship. When the years went on and you never had children it seemed to confirm that thought.”

I eye Gale with a frown on my face, letting his words sink in. I know it must be difficult for him to say them but he’s not choosing a very good point in time. My hormones leave me rather moody and hearing him insult my marriage and my affection for my husband gets under my skin.

“Peeta’s a great guy” Gale continues. “Still I... I guess I thought you and I were the ones who were supposed to be together and that we would have been if things had been different. If you two had not been in the reaping together. It’s like he interfered with my life and the intended outcome, you know?” He shrugs and sighs, leaning back a little. “Seeing you like this, it... I was not prepared for it. Not when so much time has gone by.”

I shake my head a little, completely baffled that he still seems to have feelings for me after so many years. The way things went between us I thought it was very clear that we both wanted other things and that neither one of us could make the other happy. Gale, it seems, felt differently.

“It was always going to be him” I tell the man who was once my best friend. “Not because of the Hunger Games or because of what happened to Prim. I think I knew that myself ever since we came back to the district after our first time in the arena. I just didn’t tell you or even admit it to myself because I was afraid of hurting you and afraid of _losing_ you. And I was afraid of losing him. I didn’t want to be in love and I most certainly did not want to get married and bring children into the world. It took fifteen years for me to agree to start a family but it wasn’t because I don’t love him. It’s because the thought of all the bad things that can happen to this child terrifies me. Peeta, he...” I pause and look out at the woods, trying to find the right words. Why did these things always seem to come so easy to Peeta and so difficult to me? “You were my best friend back then and I needed you. I loved you and part of me still does but it’s not a romantic kind of love. It never would have been, even if Peeta hadn’t come into my life.”

“You seem awfully sure of that” remarks Gale. “Funny, you weren’t quite so convinced of that before those bombs fell.”

“I know I wasn’t fair to you” I say. “I was confused and scared and I didn’t want to hurt either you or Peeta which only lead to me hurting both of you. I was seventeen and in the middle of a big campaign that was greater than any of us. Looking back now I should have realized much sooner how I truly felt but it wasn’t so easy at the time. I did love you, part of me always will, but not in a romantic sense. I was never _in_ love with you. I’ve only ever been in love with one man.”

“That may be so” says Gale. “It didn’t seem that way to me, though. And when so many years went by and the two of you didn’t start a family I assumed it had to do with the nature of your feelings for him.”

I feel a rush of anger. What gives him the right to say these things to me? What gave him the right to even speculate about mine and Peeta’s lack of children? Whether or not a couple decides to have babies is in no way a measure of how much they love one another. You could be the most loving husband and wife on earth and never want to have children and you could be miserable together but get pregnant anyway. Gale’s words feel like a huge insult and suddenly I’m hit with memories of moments in the past that should have incited the same response in me. It infuriates me further and I decide I have no desire to see Gale at all right now.

The baby kicks. Rather hard. It feels like it’s responding in anger too, fuelled by its mother’s emotions. I wish I could just get up and walk off in a huff but unfortunately I’m not agile enough for an exit like that. I rise to my feet as best I can, cringing inwardly at how it’s neither swift nor graceful, and give Gale an ice cold stare.

“Your theories have been duly noted” I say coldly.

“Wait, Katniss...”

“I love him. I really, _really_ love him. I’ve been in love with him since before I even _knew_ I was in love with him. You think you can judge us based on the fleeting moments you have spent with us over the past fifteen years? You think you know the inner functions of our marriage? You don’t know anything, Gale.”

“Come on, Catnip.”

“And don’t call me that” I snarl. I want to say more but as usual I can’t find the right words so instead I begin to make my way from the glade. Behind me I can hear him getting up and following me.

“Katniss...” he says in an apologetic tone. By now he’s walking next to me, having no trouble keeping up with my waddling. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t love him.”

“Then what?” I ask testily.

“I’ve just been trying to cope. I really wanted to believe that what you felt for him was more about a bond from shared experiences than romance. I knew he mattered to you but I didn’t want it to have any deeper roots than you being teammates, you know?” He laughs joylessly. “I suppose I knew the truth all along no matter what I tried telling myself. I saw the way it affected you to lose him to Snow.”

“It would have been just as terrifying if it had been you Snow captured” I say.

“It would have horrified you, I know” says Gale. “Just not the way it did when it was Peeta. You reacted like your mother did when our fathers died.”

I stop walking, so abruptly it almost makes Gale trip over a fallen tree branch.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Exactly what it sounds like” says Gale. “You lost your spark completely. Stopped caring. Stopped being aware of the people around you. The only thing that got that passion back in your eyes was the mention of his name.”

“Come on, it was not like that” I say, wrapping my arms around myself.

“It was” insists Gale. He takes off his coat, even though it’s freezing out, and hands it to me. “Here. You’re cold. You need to keep warm for... for the baby.”

“Thanks” I mumble. The jacket barely fits outside my own clothes but I make a feeble attempt at putting it on nonetheless.

“I think that’s probably when it really did hit me” says Gale. He looks cold so I begin to walk, knowing he’ll follow. “Just because I realized it, it doesn’t mean I acknowledged it. Based on what you told me a few minutes ago I think you can understand that. I didn’t want it to be true but when I saw how you reacted to losing him I think I knew, deep down somewhere.”

“Gale you’re not making any sense” I point out. “Besides, I don’t even care. All that was fifteen years ago. Our lives went on. Mine with Peeta and yours...”

“Yeah” he winces. Gale has had three wives by now. I’ve never asked about his divorces. It doesn’t seem like something we should talk about. “You know, I miss you Catnip.”

By now we’ve reached the end of the forest and are standing where the fences used to be. I look up at my former best friend and realize there’s only one thing to tell him.

“I don’t miss you.” It hurts him, I can see that, but it’s the truth. “I will always be grateful for the friendship that we had but I outgrew it. Long ago. Maybe I do miss the friend I used to go hunting with but you’re not that boy anymore.”

“No, I guess I’m not.”

A memory stirs. Something I overheard Gale say to Peeta one night in the Capitol during the war. How I would choose whichever one of them I needed to survive. At the time I thought it was insulting but now I realize that it depends on how you interpret the words.

“The fact is I don’t need you” I say. “I used to rely on you but that changed. Whereas with Peeta... I need him in order to live. To survive. Not because I need him to put me back together when I crumble or because he can protect me like no one else can. Because I love him so much that I don’t want to be without him.” I take off his coat and hand it back to him. He’s shivering in the cold and takes it without a word. “Someday you might feel that way about someone” I tell him. “Then you’ll understand. Until then I advise you to get it through your head that my choice is Peeta, for no other reason than that he stirs a hunger in me that is insatiable and that just knowing he’s alive in the world is enough to make me happy.”

I have more to say but the baby kicks hard and it hurts a little. I wince and Gale grabs my arm with a nervous look on his face.

“Katniss? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” I say, pulling my arm back. “The baby kicked. It does that. More and more often.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry, Gale. This is what the baby’s supposed to do.” I shiver a little and look at the frost covering the meadow, at the houses nearby, at the road. Anywhere but at Gale. “I’m hungry. I should get home, eat something.”

“Wait” says Gale. “Are you walking home? In this condition?”

“My legs are fine. So far.”

“Let me drive you” offers Gale. “I’m staying at the Old Mill Inn and they lent me a car. It’s the least I can do to drive you home, right?”

I don’t object. Getting a ride home sounds much more delightful than walking, even if the tension between us is pretty uncomfortable at the moment. I’m cold and I’m tired and I can put up with fifteen more minutes in his company if it means getting home sooner.

Neither one of us speaks until we’re in the car. Gale casts another glance at me as I pull the seatbelt around my belly.

“It’s so strange seeing you in this condition” he says. “I assume people in the Capitol don’t know about this? Plutarch may be old but he would be here in a heartbeat to shoot some saccharine documentary on the lovechild of the Mockingjay and Peeta Mellark.”

He says it with a touch of bitterness. He really must be having a hard time with the fact that I’m going to have a child by Peeta. Perhaps I ought to pity him. If his feelings still run that deep for me it can’t be easy to know I’m having a baby with the guy who was his rival but I can’t seem to muster up any sympathy. All I feel is annoyance. I know that if the men’s roles had been reversed Peeta would have been saddened for himself but happy for me. He would have wanted me to feel nothing but excitement about my child. Gale is not like that. I believe he tries but there’s always that measure of selfishness with him, the same one I find in myself.

I can’t even imagine what life would have been like if I had been with Gale. I can’t picture a life where I don’t love Peeta, a life without his warmth and kindness and affection. There is a bitterness to Gale which is much like my own and I believe it would have ended up poisoning us both. Peeta balances me out while Gale would have only added fuel to the fire.

I try to remember if Gale was always this way. He always had a sense of humour, he still does, and he always cared fiercely about the people in his life. He’s got plenty of good and admirable qualities. But that rage, that fury, that bitterness... Is it part of who he always has been or did life do that to him? We were both forced to care for our families at a young age after the loss of our fathers. Did that shape us to become this way? Maybe, but it can’t be the whole answer. Peeta is not like that and he’s seen plenty of misery, too. His mother used to hit him, he lost part of his body and part of himself in-between our reaping and the end of the war and his entire family died in the bombings yet he retains his warmth and his positive outlook. With Gale and me there’s something else, something that may have been exacerbated by the hardships in our lives but which comes from who we are. It makes me feel bad for Peeta, to be married to someone like me. I couldn’t picture being happy with Gale, not just because I don’t love him but because of that bitterness and that coldness. Two qualities I know are present in me. Peeta truly does deserve better than that but he seems happy with our life together. It’s more than I can manage to wrap my mind around.

Suddenly I long for him. I long for him so strongly that it’s almost a physical ache. I long for Peeta’s smile, the way his blue eyes look at me, the way it feels when he holds me. I long for his touch, the way he caresses me with those skilled hands of his. I long for the touch of his fingers, his lips, his tongue. I want him to hold me and whisper words of love to me and merge his body with mine until I can no longer tell where I end and he begins. Lovemaking has been scarce in our household since I got pregnant. I haven’t been in the mood at all, both because of the physical discomforts that comes with this condition but also because I can’t imagine he would find me sexy right now. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve slept together in the past months and I know that it’s been difficult for him. Still he’s never pressured me, even before he knew I was pregnant. He’s always so patient and caring. The thought of it makes me miss him even more and I have to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from breaking out into tears.

“Katniss?” asks Gale, casting glances at me every few seconds.

“What?” I ask shortly. I realize that the car has stopped and we’re right outside the house.

“About Peeta--”

“Thanks for the ride” I cut him off, fumbling to get my seatbelt off. I can’t stand to hear Gale talk about Peeta right now. Not after the things he said out in the forest.

“Catnip--”

“See you, Gale.”

With that I’m out of the car, slamming the door behind me and hurrying to the house without looking behind me. The steps up to the front porch are a bit slippery so I grab the rail to steady myself. Ever since winter came I’ve been nervous that I might slip and fall and hurt the baby but so far I’ve managed to stay on my feet. I unlock the door and hurry inside, feeling somehow better when I close the front door shut between me and Gale. Now I’m back at home where it’s warm and comfortable and where I can get to feel my husband’s arms around me.

The place seems strangely quiet though, and as I peel off the layers of warm clothing I realize that I unlocked the door to get inside. Is Peeta not at home? With a frown I walk into the kitchen where a pile of dishes sits in the sink and a pan rests on the stovetop, full of newly baked bread hastily covered with a towel. I walk over and lift the towel up, touching the bread to feel if it’s warm. It’s not. Peeta usually doesn’t leave bread on the pan this way once it’s cooled off.

“Peeta?” I say, hoping he’s just gone upstairs and will be back down here any minute. I long for him so badly right now. “Peeta?”

Then my eyes catch a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. I walk over and pick it up. Peeta must have been in a hurry when he wrote it based on the sloppy scribbles. He’s gone into town with Haymitch, who, on another drunken stupor, fell and hit his head opening a gash. Head wounds bleed profusely and Peeta, who saw it through the window, left to take him to the hospital.

I whimper out loud and feel about ready to give Haymitch another hit to the head. Overwhelmed by the conversation I had with Gale and my disappointment that Peeta is not here, and probably won’t be for several hours, I sit down by the table and burst into tears. I hate Haymitch for falling over. I hate Gale for how he can’t seem to be happy for me and Peeta. And I hate myself for the memory of times in the past when I should have seen that in him and should have said something.

My emotions aren’t rational right now. I’m hormonal and feeling sick with longing for my husband and frightened about the huge responsibility that will be mine for the rest of my life once this child comes to the world. I sit there on my chair for what feels like hours, sobbing over everything that hurts me right now and feeling once again like I don’t deserve Peeta. Vivid memories flash before my eyes of the first time we saw Gale after the reconstruction had begun. One of the reasons I’m having this baby is because I want to give as much to Peeta as he has given to me, a feeling spurred by the guilt I sometimes feel over how I’ve treated him in the past. Right now what makes me cry the hardest is the realization that the times when I treated him poorly are not all from before we were married. Then, as before the war ended, it has to do with Gale.

 

 

Peeta and I have been summoned to a meeting in former District 2. At first neither one of us feels like attending but after a strongly worded explanation from Haymitch on why we still have a duty to do whatever we can for the good of Panem we decide to adhere to the summoning. It is the first time I have even been allowed outside of former District 12 since I murdered Coin and I might have been excited for the chance to travel if it wasn’t for the fact that Gale called and invited us to come and stay with him. I accept because I don’t know what else to do and we haven’t found any other place to sleep but I’m not looking forward to it. When the day comes for us to leave we pack our bags and board the afternoon train.

Being on this train is radically different from when we were travelling for the purpose of the Games. It is the first time either one of us has left home since the war and neither one of us has given much thought to how trains are now commonly used as modes of transportation between former districts. This train has none of the luxuries of our former train rides and consists of numerous small sleeping compartments and one dining cart which is cramped and smelly and doesn’t serve anything that seems remotely worth the price. Instead of luxurious rooms with a bed and a shower and a large closet we have a small compartment with just enough room for us both to stand next to each other. Instead of beds there are two narrow bunks, one on top of the other. Peeta and I share a look and wonder how people are supposed to get a good night’s sleep in those things without worrying about falling off when the train rocks.

The purpose of all this is of course to allow as many people as possible to travel at once though the train is not even half full when we get on. We leave our luggage in our compartment and make our way to the dining cart where we eat a meagre dinner without saying much to one another. I’m nervous about leaving home and about the meeting we’ve been summoned to, even though it’s a pretty informal event organized by some committee in the new government that wants the input of the key players of the revolution in some matters they have yet to reveal. More than that I am nervous about seeing Gale for the first time since the war. I haven’t got the faintest idea what it will feel like to see him again. The war changed everything irrevocably between us and I have to admit to myself that I’m not looking forward to seeing him. As for Peeta, I thought he was looking forward to the chance to travel but he’s not very talkative and seems miles away in his mind.

When we have finished eating it’s already close to nine o’clock and we decide we might as well go to bed. It takes almost half an hour to change into our night clothes and to figure out how to arrange the bunks and where to find everything we need. The bunks are too narrow for us to sleep in the same one and it fills me with dread to think about not having his body next to mine during the night on board a train.

When Peeta asks if I want the top bunk or the bottom I take the bottom one and then nearly hit my head on the above bunk as I try to get under the covers. Peeta climbs up to the above bunk and bids me a good night. I lie there in silence, shaking with the movements of the train, unable to come to rest. It has been a long time now since we’ve spent a night apart. This is not technically apart since he’s in the same compartment as me but I find it to be difficult to go to sleep without the feel of his body next to mine. Especially on board a train and especially when I’m so on edge about the following day.

Somehow though I drift off to sleep almost right away. This train rocks far more than the one we travelled on when we were part of the Games and the movement lulls me to sleep. I sleep without disturbance of bad dreams but at one point I’m woken up by the sound of Peeta climbing down from his bunk. I lift myself up on my elbow and suppress my instinct to say his name and to follow him as he leaves the compartment. Judging by the clumsy way he gets down on the floor and how he doesn’t even try to be quiet as he barges out the door something is wrong. In all likelihood he’s having an onset of what I’ve come to call hijack flashback. When that happens the best thing I can do is leave him alone. I can’t fight those demons for him and I’m not sure it wouldn’t just make things worse if I tried to be there. Given how he hated me when he had first been hijacked it seems wisest to stay away until it’s over.

The rocking of the train soon lulls me back to sleep and when I wake up again it’s morning. I carefully climb out of my bunk and look at the top one, expecting to find my husband still asleep. Instead the bunk is empty and with a frown I turn around and open the compartment door.

The compartments are all placed along a narrow corridor with windows and a rail to hold on to when the train rocks. Right outside our compartment, just four feet away from the door, stands Peeta. He’s still in his pyjamas and with his hair in disarray, hands holding firmly to the rail and shoulders and head bent. Has he been here all night? Without a word I close the small gap between us and run my fingers up and down his back. He doesn’t twitch at the touch so he must have heard me open the door. After a moment I let my hands trail around him and I rest my forehead against his back.

“Did you get any sleep?” I ask.

“No not much.”

“What happened?”

“I had... an onset.”

I nod against his back. There’s no need to ask further questions. He doesn’t know what triggers these onsets, if there are any actual triggers. Maybe they just happen completely at random. I lift my head and place a kiss on his shoulder.

“It was bad this time” I say. It’s not a question. “Worse than usual, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“You still have another couple of hours before we reach Di... Before we reach the station.” For the life of me I can’t seem to stop referring to the various parts of Panem by their former district numbers. “Get some sleep.”

“I’d rather get a shower” says Peeta, letting go of the rail and standing up straight. “There’s one at the end of the hallway. I’ll feel better when I’ve washed this night off of me.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just walks back into our compartment to grab his clothes and then heads off to shower. During the rest of the train ride he remains silent but he seems to brighten up a bit when we reach the train station of what used to be District 2.

It’s no wonder he perks up, really. It’s mid-March and when we left home it was grey and cold and bleak. Here in former District 2 it’s warm all year long and the grass is green, the trees have leaves and the sky is blue above us. Who wouldn’t be in good spirits? Even I perk up a bit, despite dreading the meetings ahead of us.

We’re picked up at the train station by a woman who works for the mayor. She presents herself by title but I’ve forgotten what that title is five minutes later as we ride in her car towards the house where we’ll be staying. It’s Gale’s house and we’re told it’s lovely situated by a lake in a forest area. Sounds like the perfect place for Gale to live. He is not home at the moment, we are told, but he will be with us as soon as he can. We’re also informed that the vice president has been detained in the Capitol so the meeting won’t start until the day after tomorrow. I’m not too excited about this particular piece of news but once we arrive at Gale’s house I forget all about it. Our escort tells me we can’t get inside until Gale arrives and that she has to leave but our bags will be safe on the back porch for now.

 

 

A short time later I take a deep breath and inhale the wonderful smells of forest and water and vegetation all around me. We have made our way down a small slope to a wooden dock out by the lake. There’s no boat there so I fleetingly wonder if Gale will be arriving by water but I don’t particularly care. For the first ten minutes or so I’m preoccupied with enjoying my surroundings and ignoring the things I dread about the upcoming days.

I sit on the docks and look out on the water in front of me, listening to the sound of birds chirping nearby. Peeta is stretched out behind me with his right leg bent on one side of me and his left leg stretched on the other. He has taken the prosthetic off since it sometimes chafes and he has pulled up the legs of his pants to just above his knees in the warm sun. His jacket is off and he’s using it as a pillow. I can hear from his steady breathing that he has drifted off to sleep. Hardly surprising given how little he seems to have gotten during the night. My right arm is wrapped under his leg and my hand runs up and down the lower half of it. I love running my hand up and down his leg, it’s a token of affection I find both comforting and arousing, but it sometimes unsettles me that I can only do it with one. When I reach my hand out on my left side there’s nothing there below his knee.

I don’t know for how long I sit there watching the water while my husband sleeps behind me. Part of me wishes Gale would arrive so that we can get this first meeting over with and another part of me hopes he won’t be here for quite a while yet. The truth is I don’t want to see him. I know it’s not going to be the same as it once was and that scares me a little. As long as we’re miles apart I don’t have to face that my relationship with my best friend has been changed forever but now we’re going to have to come face to face and acknowledge all that has happened. It feels like we never got a chance to iron things out before I killed President Coin and we were sent in different directions. I rebuilt my life and I’m sure he did too but the fact is we mattered so much to one another at one point and it’s strange to think that he might not fit into my new life and that I might not even want him to.

Before I can make sense of my emotions and decide how I really do feel about meeting him again my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone coming walking down the slope. My first thought is that it can’t be Gale since I would probably not hear him coming but then I figure he might be making himself heard on purpose so that I’m not startled. When the footsteps reach the wooden docks I turn my head and there he is.

Gale looks better than ever. His dark hair is a little longer now than when I last saw him and his skin is more tanned but his friendly eyes are the same and the warm smile helps ease a little bit of my worry. His steps have woken Peeta who squints for a second and then turns his upper body to see who’s approaching. He supports his weight on his left hand and uses the right one to shade his eyes while he smiles up at Gale.

“Hey” says Gale. “Sorry I kept you waiting. How do you like my view?”

Peeta returns the greeting and makes a few comments about the gorgeous surroundings but I feel suddenly so awkward that I can’t look directly at Gale. I know I’m blushing and I turn around and reach for Peeta’s prosthetic as an alibi while I take a minute to gather myself. Then I arrange my face in a smile and turn to look my former best friend in the eye.

“I got stuck in a meeting with the mayor” explains Gale. “I thought somebody would be here to let you in but it turns out everybody had other errands.”

“You really have a nice place here” I manage, still smiling. “You’ve gotten ahead in the world, living at a place like this. I don’t think we could have even imagined it back when we used to go poaching and sell our game at the Hob.”

I cringe inwardly. I had to bring that up right away, didn’t I? Luckily Gale doesn’t seem too bothered by the reference to our past. He squats down to get closer to us and looks out on the lake with a crooked grin. I notice he has a small scar on his left cheek that wasn’t there when we last saw each other and I wonder how and when he got it.

“It’s beautiful here” he notes. “But I don’t live here by myself. There are four of us sharing the house. A lot of that in the area nowadays. More people than there are houses since so many were destroyed during the war.”

I feel tempted to point out that he was one of those who eagerly advocated bombing this place but I hold my tongue. It’s not Gale’s fault what happened in District 2 during the war. Peeta meanwhile gets his prosthetic in place and gives Gale another smile.

“Sounds like a smart plan” he says. “Maybe we should have similar systems back home, although it’s not exactly over-populated.”

Gale nods and smiles. He then tells us that the people he shares the house with are not all male. In fact one of them is his girlfriend. Hearing that he’s with someone relaxes me a bit, removing the burden of wondering if there’s going to be some form of strange tension between us as an aftermath of the feelings he had that I was never able to reciprocate.

“Her name is Jewel” Gale says. “You can guess which district she came from.”

“I guess that’s part of the beauty of the new Panem” says Peeta. “Getting to know people you would have never met if the Capitol had still ruled. Is she involved in government work too?”

“No, she came to work in one of the factories” says Gale. Then he seems tired of talking small and rises. “Come. Let’s go up to the house. You haven’t gotten something to eat since the train and it’s almost time for dinner.”

Peeta and I rise and we follow Gale off the docks and onto the path that leads up to the house. On the way up I can’t help but voice the thought that first came into my head when we arrived.

“These woods, are they good hunting ground?”

“Yes” Gale nods. “Though I don’t have much time for hunting. Usually just once a week, just like the good old days back in the mines of District 12...” He points to the eastern side. “I usually put out my snares in those parts. Haven’t done it in a while though. I meant to, with you coming to stay here for the meeting and all, but it’s been one thing after another.”

“Since the meeting has been postponed we can put out some snares and have time to go back to them” I muse out loud.

“That sounds great” says Gale, turning to shoot me a brilliant smile.

I quiet down. I hadn’t meant to imply that him and me should do it together; it was just a natural thought that came into my head. I don’t know how I’d feel being out in the woods with him again even though I’m dying to go out and explore these new surroundings.

“Most people in these houses are from around here originally” says Gale, gesturing to the six or seven houses that line the road. “Some are from former Four, some from former Nine and I think one house has a family from former Six.”

“Is that how you refer to the old districts?” asks Peeta. Back home we never really talk about districts other than our own.

“Yeah but it’s not exactly convenient, is it?” grins Gale. “For my part I wish they could just go ahead and give the districts new names but you wouldn’t believe how much they can argue over it. Most people think we should name districts and towns after places that existed when this was all called America.”

“So why not just do that?” I ask. “Someone’s got to know what each district used to be called before the Dark Days.”

“Yeah but the problem is that the districts as we know them don’t correspond exactly with the districts that existed then” says Gale. “Plus there’s a lot of confusion about the old names. Some insist that Washington was in the west and others that it was in the east. And West Virginia was apparently also in the east, if you can believe that. I think the issue of town names is one that we’ll discuss at the meeting in two days.”

“They summoned us here to discuss town names?” asks Peeta with scepticism.

“It’s a sensitive issue” says Gale in a mocking tone, obviously having heard that from his bosses on more than one occasion. “More and more people want to name towns after former Hunger Games victors but they need the approval of those still alive first.”

“What?” I say. “They can’t do that. I don’t want people to say they live in Katniss Everdeen. Besides, if anyone should have a town named for them it should be those who sacrificed their lives for the revolt. People like Prim and Finnick.”

“My guess is they won’t settle on any names in our lifetime” Gale smirks as we reach the house at the top of the slope.

We step inside the house from the back entrance and I realize that it’s probably been built after the war. It still has a new and fresh look and feel about it and it looks so pristine and clean that it’s hard to imagine that it stood through the bombings and the warfare that went on only a few years ago. Gale leads us through a large, cosy sitting room into a white walled kitchen which looks a bit like ours does when we’re using it but Peeta would never allow for it to be left in that state once we’re done. A woman about our age stands on the other side of the large island counter, sorting through mail with a concentrated expression on her sweet face. Her hair is light brown and very curly and the eyes look like they’re about the same colour as the hair. A few freckles are strewn across her nose and cheeks but they don’t take away from her good looks, rather they suit her well. She looks up when she hears us enter and puts the mail away.

“Jewel, these are our house guests from former Twelve” says Gale.

The woman, Gale’s girlfriend, smiles and extends her hand to me.

“Welcome” she says. “I’m Jewel Lewis. Try saying that five times fast.” She laughs a little.

“Katniss Mellark” I say, shaking her hand and returning the smile.

Jewel’s eyebrows raise. In the corner of my eye I see Gale make a strange face but I don’t have time to wonder about it as Peeta has come up next to me and taken Jewel’s hand.

“Peeta Mellark” he introduces himself.

“Katniss and Peeta!” Jewel exhales. “Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you at first. Wow, this is an honour, to get the chance to meet you and have you stay at our house.” She smirks at Gale and gives him a nudge. “This fellow here didn’t tell me _you_ were the people coming to stay here from former Twelve.”

My smile gets a bit more strained and I feel awkward being treated like some form of celebrity. Back home everyone is so used to seeing Peeta and me; we’re a natural part of the town and blend in with everybody else. I have almost forgotten that people outside of our home know who we are and feel like they know us personally from having watched us on TV.

Jewel seems friendly enough though and I want to like her since Gale does and, let’s be honest, because her place in his life is bound to make this stay much less complicated than it might have been. Jewel begins to ask us questions but Gale cuts her off and leads us into the next room where food has been set up on ceramic plates. Peeta and I sit down opposite each other with Jewel sitting down next to me and Gale next to Peeta. The food is excellent, some form of pork casserole with potatoes, and I should probably be acting as pleasant as I can and make conversation. God knows I’ve had more than enough practice at being a gracious guest at dinners. But even with Jewel’s presence I’m not entirely comfortable around Gale or in the situation so I keep mostly quiet and rely on my husband to keep the conversation going. It’s halfway through the meal before I even notice that he’s barely saying a word, eating his dinner with a distant expression on his face.

Luckily Jewel has been talking almost non-stop, telling us all about the house and the area. When she begins to talk about the woods I find myself more interested. Unfortunately, before I can ask any questions Gale speaks up.

“Katniss is interested in taking a closer look at the woods” he tells Jewel.

“I merely suggested that snares could be put out” I say, feeling myself blush a little. “Since the meeting was postponed and all and I thought I’ll have time...”

“Sure!” says Jewel, though she sounds a bit surprised.

“We can head out right after dinner” says Gale.

I give him a bewildered look. We? I look over at Jewel and then at Peeta who doesn’t seem to be listening to a word we’re saying. My eyes then meet Gale’s and I see how eager he looks. I force myself to smile. Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea. We need to talk face to face at some point, why not get it over with?

“Unless you’re too exhausted from travel” says Gale.

“No” I say, shaking my head. “No, it’s fine. I would like going out into the woods. Especially after the long train ride. It would feel nice to stretch my legs for a bit.”

I don’t say much either during the rest of the meal, letting Gale and Jewel talk. I kind of dread the moment the meal will be over and I will be heading out with my former hunting partner. I’m starting to really regret having come here.

 

 

Gale estimates we have another three hours of sunlight when we head out. I haven’t even had time to change my clothes since the train ride and Gale carries all the tools we need in a knapsack, leading the way into the forest. It’s just the two of us; Peeta and Jewel stayed behind to clean up after dinner. I take a good look around as we walk, saying nothing to Gale at first but paying close attention to everything he tells me about the forest. It looks about the same as back home as far as the flora and Gale says he hunts much the same game here as we used to back in Twelve. Still it has a whole other feel to it, this forest. It seems thicker and a bit darker, like there’s a lot more plant life and that the tree tops block more of the sun from reaching the ground. The sounds are different, too. Some of the bird songs I recognize but others are entirely new to me.

“Any mockingjays?” I ask.

“Just the one” Gale smiles. Oh the comedy.

“So where do you want to put the snares?” I ask.

The conversation turns to hunting and to my surprise and great relief it doesn’t take long for us to fall back into old patterns. For the following hours it’s like everything bad that happened to us and between us never happened and our relationship is back to what it was before the reaping. We discuss hunting techniques and experiences we’ve had over the last few years, trade stories and comment on different kinds of game. It feels so good to share something like this with Gale again and to allow myself to believe that on some levels we always will be friends, no matter what. In fact, it feels so good that we both completely lose track of time. It is not until the sun has begun to set and it’s getting dark that I realize we’ve been gone for hours.

“We need to get back” I say. “Do you know these woods well? It will be dark real soon and we’re at least an hour into the woods.”

“Two” says Gale. “And I know my way back, don’t worry about it Catnip.”

He hasn’t used his old nickname for me until now. I’m not entirely comfortable with it, nor am I comfortable knowing it’s another two hours before we get back to his house. It will be late by then.

“Hurry up, then” I say with a frown. “We will have been gone for almost five hours by the time we get back.”

“What’s the rush?” Gale teases. “Got somewhere to be tomorrow?”

“Is this the way back?” I ask, nodding towards a path that leads to the west.

“No sense of humour, today” Gale notes. He walks past me and leads the way. “We still have to come back and check the snares tomorrow. Interested?”

“Sure” I say.

“Good. I’ve been hunting almost entirely on my own since I’ve been here and I had almost forgotten how great it was to have a partner.” He turns and in the dusk I can barely see that he is grinning. “Almost.”

By the time we reach the end of the forest it has been dark for about an hour and a half. Gale has not said much in the last hour and neither have I. Forests in the dark don’t scare me but I’m not entirely comfortable in them either, not when I’m not familiar with the woods and know what creatures live in them.

We walk along the beach of the lake, following the lights of the house like a beacon. I feel surprisingly exhausted walking up the slope to the back porch and once we’re inside I decline Jewel’s offer of tea and scones by the fireplace. All I want to do is get ready for bed and crawl underneath the covers.

“I’ll show you to your room” Jewel smiles and leads the way up the stairs. “Peeta already went to bed. He seemed tired. Is he always this quiet? He didn’t say much while we were cleaning up after dinner but when I saw him on TV he seemed to talk as much as the next person.”

I don’t answer her but I do give her a smile and a thanks when she points me to the right door. I open it carefully in case Peeta is sleeping and step inside. It’s small but cosy, smelling like timber and some flower I can’t place. The room is not lit by any candles or artificial lights but Peeta has not drawn the curtains so the moonlight shines in through the open windows. I find the room to be chilly so I walk over and close one of them, pulling the curtains shut as I do. I then undress quietly and draw the other curtains shut before I lift up the comforter and climb into bed.

Peeta is fast asleep, lying on his side facing away from me. We’ve never really had designated sides of the bed but it does occur to me that back when we travelled around and spent the nights together for comfort Peeta always slept closer to the door as if to protect me from anyone or anything that might come through it. Tonight he’s chosen the other side of the bed. As I move closer to him I begin to wonder what is going on with him. It occurs to me that he might have worried about me since I’ve been out for so long past dusk. He would never have been able to sleep if he was seriously worried but it must have been unsettling for him.

I think of how he’s been acting ever since we left home and I suddenly feel guilty and a little concerned. He’s been unusually quiet and withdrawn and I have barely paid attention to it, too wrapped up in my own worries. Some wife I am. Then I go charging out into the woods with the man he used to think I loved rather than him and I don’t come home even after nightfall.

I align my body to his and wrap my arm around him, giving his shoulder a kiss to wake him before I nuzzle my face at the crook of his neck. He stirs with a grunt and turns his head just a little bit before letting it fall back to the pillow. I nuzzle closer and drape my leg over his.

“Hey...” I mumble into the night. “I’m home.” He makes a noise of acknowledgment but seems sleepy and distant. “Is everything alright with you, Peeta?” I ask.

“Yeah...” he replies in a whisper. “Just... I have this throbbing headache. Had it all day long.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask softly.

“It’s just a headache. It will pass.”

I move my leg a bit and it brushes against the stump of his left leg. He recoils a bit at the touch which tells me it’s more sore than I thought.

“While we’re here and we’ve got people from the Capitol around we should talk to someone about getting you a new prosthetic” I say.

“The Capitol has bigger problems to worry about.”

“I don’t” I say. “They owe you. They owe you a lot. Plus, you’re here, aren’t you? For one of their important meetings, even though you and I have both long since retired from any of their official business.”

“Sure” he yawns but I don’t get the feeling he actually intends on pressing the issue with them. He’s quiet for a minute and I begin to think he’s drifting back to sleep when he speaks again with a less sleepy tone. “How was it out in the woods?”

“Fine” I tell him.

“Are you going back out tomorrow?”

“We... I’m not sure.”

“You should” says Peeta. “We have nothing to do tomorrow anyway and I know you’re aching to get out there. Gale could probably lend you a bow. Go do your thing, spend some time with him. You haven’t seen each other in years.”

I’m completely taken aback by what he’s saying. I was beginning to wonder if his quietness during the day had to do with me and Gale being around each other again. We’ve never really talked about it, Peeta and me, how Gale and I left things. Peeta is the one I married and I haven’t thought he would need further reassurance of where my feelings lie but I was just beginning to wonder if maybe he’s not comfortable with me spending time with Gale. Now he’s actively _encouraging_ me to spend an entire day all alone with him out in the woods. I should be relieved that he’s not insecure or jealous and glad that he’s not the kind of man who would tell me who I can or cannot spend time with yet I don’t feel entire good about it. I know Peeta better than anyone and I know that he would let me go hunting with Gale even if it bothered him and the last thing I want to do is something that would make him feel bad.

“What about you?” I ask. “If I’m out hunting tomorrow what will you do?”

“Don’t worry about me” says Peeta with a yawn.

“You don’t know anybody here” I point out. “I don’t want to head off and leave you all by yourself, waiting for a meeting I know you’re not looking forward to.”

“Go hunting, Katniss” he answers in a reassuring tone. “It’s a great opportunity that you shouldn’t pass up on. I’ve never had trouble keeping myself entertained before and I won’t tomorrow. I’ve got my sketch pad and I could easily spend the entire day out on those docks with just my pad and a set of pencils and brushes and colours.”

A faint smile appears on my face. I can easily imagine him spending all day sitting out there drawing his surroundings. Drawing me in those surroundings. Sometimes I forget that he likes his alone time too and that for him painting can have the same effect as hunting does for me. I’m eager to explore the woods but he is probably just as eager to paint them.

“If you’re sure...” I mumble into his neck.

“Of course I am” he says sleepily. “Look, if you don’t want to go hunting then don’t. I just think you’re really eager to and that you’d be foolish not to.”

My smile widens and I place a kiss on his neck.

“I kind of like you, do you know that?” I say.

“I had a feeling” he replies.

I giggle and give him a light squeeze. He doesn’t say anything else and within a few minutes he begins to snore lightly. I fall asleep shortly thereafter, exhausted after the travel, the nervousness I’ve been feeling and the hours out in the woods.

When I wake up it is still at least an hour until dawn and I’m not sure what woke me. Peeta is sleeping soundly and I didn’t have any bad dreams. I try to go back to sleep but soon realize that I’m too awake for that to happen. Quietly and gently I get out of bed and grab my clothes from the floor. I get dressed and braid my hair in the darkness, then quietly slip out of the room.

I walk down the stairs and through the house until I reach the windows by the back porch. It doesn’t take long before the sun begins to rise over the eastern end of the woods and the sight is beautiful to behold. I wish Peeta was there with me so he could later capture it with his colours on paper but I haven’t got the heart to go upstairs and wake him. He needs his sleep, especially with both a headache and his prosthetic bothering him.

Gale finds me there not long after the sun has begun to rise. He seems well rested and in a good mood, giving me a warm smile as he comes up to stand next to me and look out the windows at the rising sun.

“I’m glad to see you’re up” he says. “How about it, Catnip? Want to spend the day with me, a bow and the game of Former Two? I need to be back around lunch for a phone call from the Capitol but that still leave us hours in the woods.”

“Sounds perfect” I answer.

 

 

At first we have a great time. Gale takes me down a few paths we didn’t walk the day before and we sit together in a glade, watching and waiting for game to walk into our line of sight. It’s like old times, relaxed and comfortable. I can allow myself to forget the bad things that have happened between us. We fall back into old routines and work as a team, slaying our first prey an hour and a half after we set out from the house. It’s a rabbit that falls for my arrow and it’s when Gale knees to collect it that things suddenly change. He seems preoccupied and at first I wonder if there’s something alarming about the rabbit but then he opens his mouth to speak.

“I have to say it took me by surprise” says Gale.

“The rabbit?” I ask, like an idiot.

“You. Married.”

Just like that I know that whatever illusions I had of things being the way they used to be were nothing more than illusions. How could I ever think otherwise? Too much has happened, too many things have changed and too much time has gone by. Gale and I might still be good hunting partners but things will never be the way they used to be before I was in the Games. Before I got to know Peeta and Gale joined the resistance.

“We married a year and a half ago” I say. “I guess news does not travel fast.”

He laughs a little but there’s no joy in it. He studies the rabbit and doesn’t look up at me.

“I guess I never thought you would cease to be Katniss Everdeen.”

“I was rather glad to be rid of it” I tell him. “When people hear that name they think of the Mockingjay and of war and of sorrow.”

“No Katniss, they think of hope” says Gale, looking up at me.

“ _I_ think of sadness and war when I hear that name” I retort. “I got married and I chose to take my husband’s name. What of it? We’re family and it feels good to share a name. The number of women who keep their maiden name in marriage are few and far between.”

“I know, but...” he smiles crookedly. “It’s who you are. Katniss Everdeen.”

“I’m still me” I point out dryly, fed up with the conversation. “Are you going to pet that rabbit all day long or are we going to continue?”

Gale is not quite as done with the topic as I am. He rises and eyes my left hand. I look down and see the ring I wear on my finger. Usually I take it off when I’m in the woods or in the shower since I don’t want to risk losing it or damaging it but this morning it slipped my mind.

“He gave you that?” Gale assumes. “Which district’s tradition is that?”

“It’s none of your business” I say sullenly and walk past him to leave the glade and go check the snares we set out yesterday. “It shouldn’t even come as a surprise. Peeta and I have been together since the year the war ended.” Hoping to salvage the day from a discussion about Gale’s former feelings for me and what I really did or did not feel for him I shift the focus on to him. “What about yourself? How long have you been with Jewel?”

“Ten months” Gale tells me, following in my tracks.

“Any plans on marrying?” I ask.

“Perhaps” he answers evasively.

“If you do I hope she takes your name. Jewel Hawthorne sounds so much better than Jewel Lewis.”

My attempts at lightening the mood fall flat and soon it begins to annoy me. If nothing else I would have thought we were past this part where he makes me feel guilty about the way I feel about Peeta and the ways our relationship progress. He no longer has the right to make me feel that guilt. Gale and I are over, we never even began and it’s obvious we have both moved on or he would not be with Jewel. I, on my part, am married. Nothing about the situation makes me think Gale has lingering feelings for me but it bothers me that he seems to object to my decision to marry and change my name. It is none of his business or concern and although I can understand that he wants certain things to stay the way they’ve always been I can’t take his feelings into consideration. He’s not really in my life anymore.

We don’t say anything else on the subject but the good mood from before is gone. I’m rather relieved when we have to head back to the house so that Gale can make his phone call. We walk in silence through the woods and I get a feeling of conclusion, like something is coming to a definitive end. Somehow I know that Gale and I will never head out as good hunting buddies again. There really is no going back and the more I think about it the stranger it is that I let myself think that it could be the same as before. Gale is undeniably tied to Prim’s death and he has a destructive side about him that I don’t think I can deal with very well. I’ve had enough destruction in my life to last a dozen lifetimes.

When we reach the end of the forest it is sunny and I realize it’s much warmer than I thought while we were in the woods. We walk in silence towards the house and my eyes draw to the docks where Peeta said he would be. I spot him almost at once but the happiness that I normally feel when I look at him comes to a halt. With him on the docks is a pretty redheaded woman I have never laid eyes on before which means Peeta must not have met her before today either. Yet she is hanging over his shoulder looking at what he’s drawing and laughing happily. He smiles up at her and it bothers me though I can’t really justify it. She then moves and sits down on the edge of the docks, striking a pose. This really infuriates me. Why the hell is he letting some strange woman pose for him out on the docks? If he needs a model all he needs to do is ask.

I’m tempted to go over there but I don’t know for what purpose really and before I can make up my mind Gale starts to talk again and suggests we find something to eat for a late lunch. I cast another look down at the lake and think to myself that whoever this girl is she’s a vapid and silly thing, tossing her hair back over her shoulder like that. Then I follow Gale inside and once we’ve walked through the living room into the kitchen I can no longer see Peeta and the redhead down by the lake.

After a light lunch I go to lie down on the couch and get some rest. I want to be alone for a moment and since I didn’t sleep very long during the night I’m quite tired. I make myself comfortable on the couch, pulling a soft blanket over myself, and close my eyes.

I dream I am back in the arena, trying to find Peeta but he is gone somewhere, too cleverly camouflaged for me to see him and too badly wounded to alert me to his whereabouts. In the midst of it all is Gale, also wounded but able to speak and stumble, appearing wherever I go, accusing me of causing his injuries and leaving him to die. Then the dream changes into a large theatre where everyone I care about is gathered and I know I can only save one or two of them before time runs out.

I wake up with a cry, panting and shivering. Within a few seconds strong arms embrace me and a gentle voice shushes me. It is not Peeta holding me, it is Gale. His arms are strong and comforting and I’m reminded of what a great source of comfort and strength he was to me for such a long and critical period of my life. I sink into his embrace and shudder, closing my eyes hard.

Gale shushes me and comforts me and I begin to feel a little better. I hear footsteps in the kitchen followed by familiar voices speaking but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Then there’s a creaking sound as the kitchen door opens more followed by the sound of Peeta’s footsteps. The couch dips as he sits down by my side and puts a reassuring hand on my leg.

“It’s alright” says Peeta. “Just a nightmare.”

He sounds reassuring and soothing. There’s nothing in his voice that hints that it might bother him that Gale is holding me close and it occurs to me that Gale has made no move to take his arms off of me and his cheek still rests against my head. It’s comforting to be in his strong arms but something stirs in me and I remember what happened out in the woods.

I nudge Gale away from me and lean into Peeta’s arms instead. His hand caresses my neck and his lips place a faint kiss on my head.

“It will be okay” he assures me.

“I don’t want to have nightmares” I whisper against his shoulder.

“I know... At least I think you’re done for the day.”

That makes me giggle even though I don’t actually find it funny, nor believable. I cling to him for a while, finding strength in the familiarity of this routine of ours. When I release my grip on him and turn around I see Gale still sitting there, looking at me with concern.

“You okay there, Catnip?” he asks.

“Yeah” I say. “Much better. Thank you... You know, for being there.”

“You know I’ve got your back.”

I nod meekly.

“If you don’t mind...” I say. “We have some snares left to check and I would be happy to do that... by myself. I need to clear my head.”

“Sure” says Gale in a calm, understanding voice.

“Will you be able to find them?” questions Peeta as I stand up. “You won’t get lost?”

“It’s a forest, Peeta” I answer. “I know my way around them.”

 

 

I spend an hour, maybe more, out in the woods. I find the snares and check them; only two have game for me. While I’m out there I try my best to clear my head but I can’t seem to make sense of things. What am I to Gale now? What is Gale to me? Sometimes I miss our old friendship and feel lonely without it. Nobody could ever take the place Gale had in my life. It makes me bitter to think of how Snow and the Capitol and the war somehow managed to take that from me too. As if it weren’t enough that it claimed the life of my sister and so many of my friends, it had to claim one of the strongest bonds I have ever had in my whole life.

Then there’s Peeta. What was he doing with that redhead out on the docks? Why was he so quiet yesterday; was it really just about a headache? Why must everybody have a _reaction_ to his and my relationship? How will people react tomorrow? I’m not excited about the prospect of everyone commenting on our nuptials whether they are excited, like Jewel, or critical, like Gale. Can’t we have anything that’s not up for public debate? Though I suppose I’m not being fair. Gale didn’t _criticize_ our marriage. He just thought it strange that I took a new name. There was just something about the way he talked about it, something I can’t quite put my finger to.

When I head back the sun has begun it’s slow descent and the sky has a light tone of orange. I look up at the setting sun and figure it will be about an hour before it disappears behind the mountains. This day will be over and tomorrow will come and after that we can go home. Back to where we can live our lives in private and where nobody offers an opinion about us.

As I walk up the slopes with my game bag in my left hand and my bow in my right I hear a familiar voice.

“Katniss? Katniss!”

I turn my head and nearly drop the bag when I see Hazelle Hawthorne hurrying up to me. She must have come from the house I just walked by but I had no idea Gale’s mother lived here now. She was in former District 12 for about a year after the war but then she left and I never found out where she ended up. Now she’s here and she’s very happy to see me. She throws her arms around me and I hug her back. I have no ill feelings towards Hazelle, quite the contrary.

“Hazelle” I say. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been?”

In the next ten minutes she updates me about her life and what she and Gale’s brothers and sister have been doing since they left former District 12. I feel guilty realizing I spent hours with Gale out in the woods and I didn’t even ask about his family. Then Hazelle surprises me when she turns the conversation in a different direction.

“I so would have liked to have you for a daughter-in-law” she says almost musingly, her hand stroking the braid that falls over my shoulder in a maternal fashion. “Gale, he cared about you so much but you know that. You wanted something different and I understand that but sometimes I think about how nice it would have been if you and him had been together.”

“Hazelle...” I say, blushing, not sure what to say to that.

“I’m sorry, dear” says Hazelle with a smile. “I should not have said that. I know you’re married to the baker’s boy and I know it’s the right thing for you.”

“The baker’s boy?” I echo with a chuckle. “It’s been a long time since I heard anyone refer to him that way.”

“It’s a good match with you and him” says Hazelle tenderly, still fussing with my braid. “I saw it back in former Twelve before we left and I’ve seen it with you here. Yes, I’ve seen you since you arrived here Katniss but I haven’t wanted to disturb you.”

“You could never disturb me” I object.

“I would have been sorry for my son that things did not turn out the way he hoped when you were younger but when I see you and your husband together it’s plain to see that it’s all for the best. You’re going to be one of _those_ couples...”

“What does that mean?” I ask, getting confused.

“You know, the couples that remain together through thick and thin. The way your mother was with your father and the way I was with my husband.” Her smile fades a bit as she thinks back on the people we’ve lost. “I was still young when I lost my husband. You and yours, you’re young lovers. When you’re in your old age you will have shared almost your entire lifetime. Some couples go through life together more as friends than lovers but others... You can tell that their hearts and lives are connected. That when one passes the other soon follows.”

I don’t even know what she is talking about anymore but I have a feeling she’s talking more about her own marriage than mine and it all sounds rather unsettling. I force myself to laugh to brighten the mood a little.

“Our old age is far away” I say. “So is yours. Have you found work here? Are you still doing laundry? I bet they have all sorts of different jobs now that weren’t available before the war.”

I manage to steer the conversation to safer territories. I’m tired of discussing my marriage with people who should mind their own business, even if it is someone like Hazelle, who knows me and only means well. We talk for about fifteen minutes and then I follow her around to the front of the house where she was heading anyway to put a letter in the outgoing mailbox. We stop for a second by the door, both of us wondering how long it will be before we see each other again.

“Give my love to Posy and the boys” I say.

“Come by and see them before you leave. If you have time.”

“Sure...” My left hand reaches out, still holding the bag. “Here. It’s the game Gale and I caught in the snares today. You should have it.”

“No, Katniss, we have enough to feed ourselves.”

“Please” I insist. “For old times’ sake.”

She takes it and gives me one more hug. Then I walk up the porch and step inside the house. The kitchen is buzzing with activity. Gale, Jewel and a dark haired man I’ve never seen before are talking, laughing and preparing dinner. Gale looks up when I walk inside and his smile turns to a frown.

“What happened to your bag?” he asks.

“Oh... I ran into your mother.”

The smile returns.

“I bet she was thrilled to see you.”

“Yeah” I say. “It was nice seeing her.”

He turns to the dark haired fellow who’s busy frying vegetables by the stove.

“You haven’t met Dane, have you? Dane, say hello to Katniss.”

Jewel walks over and takes the frying pan and the man, Dane, turns and grins at me. He walks over and extends his hand and I take it.

“Dane Swann.”

“Katniss Mellark. You’re one of Gale’s roommates?”

“I am” nods Dane. “I don’t need to ask who you are.” I force myself to keep a friendly smile while I wait for another excited comment about the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay. “Gale has told us about his old hunting partner back in former Twelve.”

Dane lets go of my hand and returns to the stove. I decide that I like him. I don’t doubt that he knew me from the Hunger Games and the rebellion before he heard Gale’s stories of his hunting partner in District Twelve but either on his own volition or from encouragements from Gale he doesn’t focus on my public persona. I’d much rather he thought of me as Gale’s former hunting partner than as any of the things the rest of Panem seem to think of me. He grabs the frying pan again and Jewel sends me a smile while she walks to the refrigerator to get some cream.

“Peeta is in the living room” she tells me. “Sadie is with him. She’s the one roommate you haven’t met yet.”

“I should go say hello, then.”

My mood gets less pleasant as I walk past Gale to the door leading to the living room. I can imagine who this Sadie person is – she has to be the woman I saw Peeta with earlier. Why is she with him in the living room and not with her roommates helping with dinner? I know it shouldn’t bother me but it does and I am not in the mood for it.

I push open the door to the living room and stop for a second. Peeta is in an armchair and the redhead in a similar chair next to him. They’re in the middle of a conversation, both smiling, clearly enjoying each other’s company. With my foot I push the door closed behind me and the sound catches their attention.

“Oh, hey” says Peeta, looking up at me.

Feeling territorial I walk up to them and take a seat in the chair with Peeta, greeting him with a kiss that goes on for just a little longer than appropriate when other people are in the room. He looks surprised when I pull back, and a little embarrassed.

“I missed you” I say.

“Clearly” says Peeta in a surprised tone. Then he harks and nods to our company. “Katniss, I don’t believe you’ve met Sadie.”

I turn my head and look at the brightly smiling redhead who’s annoyed me by her very existence. She extends her hand to me and I take it, my other arm wrapping around Peeta’s shoulders.

“Hi I’m Sadie!” the girl practically twitters.

“Katniss” I say, resisting the temptation to add my last name with a lot of emphasis.

“Sadie has been keeping me company today” explains Peeta. “She’s one of the people living here with Gale and Jewel.”

“The only person living here who’s not allowed into the kitchen when dinner is being made ready” giggles Sadie. “Jewel says I ruin everything I touch in a kitchen.”

“She’s handier with a paintbrush” says Peeta. “She lent me some of her colours.”

“I don’t do a lot of lifelike stuff, though” smiles Sadie. “ I do mostly little cartoon drawings and I especially like drawing caricatures.”

“Caricatures?” I echo sceptically.

“Yeah, she showed me some of her tricks” says Peeta.

“The TV doesn’t work half the time here so being able to draw funny pictures comes in handy” Sadie smirks. “Your husband’s not half bad but I think he should probably stick to his usual paintings.”

“Here, I’ll show you” says Peeta, reaching for his sketchpad laying on a table next to him. He turns a few pages and shows me a drawing of a cartoonish looking squirrel. “Not shabby for a beginner, or what do you think?”

“I think I agree with Sadie” I say. “Stick to drawing things to look like real life. That’s what you’re good at.”

I feel a bit more relaxed and not so annoyed at Sadie anymore though I have not decided whether or not I should like her yet. We don’t get a chance to talk much. Dinner is soon announced, followed by conversations by the fireplace and during most of that time she and my husband talk about painting and colours and what kind of paper is good to use, conversations which I can contribute very little to so I don’t even try. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It’s very clear that there’s no romantic undertone to their interactions; Peeta I trust completely and Sadie doesn’t seem to take any such interest in him. Or at least she doesn’t show any such inclinations in front of me.

After about an hour Peeta excuses himself to go take a shower. The moment he’s gone Sadie turns to me with a wide smile on her face.

“It is so exciting to get to meet him!” she chirps, leaning closer to me. “Of course I saw his paintings on TV during your Victory Tour but I didn’t think much of it then because, well, there were other things to worry about in life. There aren’t a lot of other painters around these parts and it’s really thrilling to get to talk shop with someone who knows what it’s all about, you know?”

“Sadie let her be” says Gale. “She’s not interested in talking about this stuff. She probably gets enough of it at home.”

“It’s fine, Gale” I say.

“You have _got_ to get him to show you the painting he did with my watercolours this afternoon” says Sadie.

“Sounds like he had a productive day” remarks Gale dryly.

“It’s beautiful” continues Sadie. “He painted the lake and the mountains during sunset... and the silhouette of a woman in the foreground. She’s sitting on the docks, watching the setting sun... It’s amazing, truly.”

“I’m guessing it was very orange” I say.

“Yeah” laughs Sadie.

I’m not laughing. The memory of her posing for Peeta out on the docks flashes before my eyes. No doubt she posed for the sketch he made to outline his watercolour painting and while there’s nothing bad about that it still irks me.

“Is this it?” asks Dane, picking up a piece of paper lying on the windowsill. He brings it over to Sadie who takes a look.

“It is” she nods, handing it to me. “God I wish I could paint like that.”

I take the painting in my hands and study it. It really is beautiful. Peeta has captured the shape of the mountains and the beauty of the lake and set it in a beautiful sunset. The sky, in its pink and orange and dark blue, is reflected on the water together with the last glimpses of the setting sun. He doesn’t normally use watercolours which makes it stand out compared to other paintings I’ve seen by him. My eyes study it in detail and then focus on the woman in the foreground. It’s not Sadie he’s painted. It’s me. I can tell it easily even though it’s just a silhouette. That is my profile, my braid, my posture. Seeing this picture he made this afternoon is almost like a reminder of his feelings for me. It brings a smile to my face and a very warm feeling to my chest.

“Here, let me see” says Jewel. Reluctantly I hand her the painting. “Beautiful” she agrees.

“It’s really good” adds Gale, looking over her shoulder.

“Speaking of setting suns...” I say, rising from my seat. “It’s getting late and we have an important meeting tomorrow morning. Thank you all for a great dinner and a lovely evening but it’s time for me to go get some sleep.”

“No more nightmares today, okay?” says Gale.

“Let’s hope not” I reply. I bid them all good night and head up the stairs to the guest bedroom. Halfway up the stairs I realize I left the painting and wish that I hadn’t. Then again it will still be there in the morning. And even if it isn’t, I have the painter.

 

 

The painting is still on my mind as I sit on the edge of the bed, undoing the braid in my hair. I can’t help but smile a little at myself and how I’m acting like a swooning schoolgirl over a picture my husband painted of me. It’s not like Peeta hasn’t painted me countless times before or that it’s new information to me that I’m often on his mind. Still, after the strange day I’ve had today seeing that picture was just what I needed.

Peeta is out from his shower and is propped up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, the prosthetic on the floor, leaned against the nightstand. He’s reading a book he found in the living room earlier in the day but he doesn’t seem too focused on it. I turn my head and look at him with a loving smile. I love how his hair looks when it’s wet and his curls get unruly. It reminds me of the boy he once was. He looks up and catches me staring at him, rewarding me with a smile.

“Guess who I ran into today?” I say.

“I give up without trying” shrugs Peeta.

“Hazelle Hawthorne.”

Peeta’s eyes perk up.

“Hazelle? She’s living here now?”

I nod. When I don’t say anything further Peeta continues reading his book. I study him with a loving smile and wish I could reach out and touch him but he’s too far away from where I’m sitting.

“You know what she said to me?” I say.

“No, what?”

I chuckle a little at the memory.

“She said this whole big thing about how good you and I are together, which is true.”

“It is” smiles Peeta, setting his book aside.

“Then she said that we were a couple who, if we live to our old age, will end up dying right after each other. Something about how once one of us is gone the other will just automatically... give up. Doesn’t that sound incredibly corny?”

“I don’t know” says Peeta. “Makes sense to me. People who are together for that long...” He trails off and shrugs.

“Makes sense that you’d _want_ to die if your spouse of many years passes on” I say. “I don’t question that part. What I doubt is that you actually _would_ die just from the loss of your husband or wife. If it were possible to die from grief I would have done so when Prim got killed.”

“Yeah but it’s different when it’s your spouse” argues Peeta. “That’s the person you share your whole life with. If I’m lucky enough that I get to spend sixty years with you or more then yeah, I think I could actually die from grief if I lost you.”

“I hope you’re right” I tell him. “There’s nothing worse than _wanting_ to die after you’ve lost someone but not being able to.”

“Maybe we can talk about something else. Tomorrow’s going to suck; no need to talk about depressing things tonight.”

My smile widens and I get up on all fours on the bed, crawling over to him. I lean in and kiss him softly on the lips.

“I saw the painting you made” I mumble against his mouth. “The watercolour one.”

“Did you like it?”

“Loved it.”

I kiss him again, tenderly. Kiss after kiss follows and the hunger begins to rise in me. Balancing on my left hand I reach up my right to gently grab him by the neck and press him closer to me as my tongue pushes inside his mouth. He responds by moaning into my mouth and running both hands through my messy hair.

Our kisses intensify. This wasn’t what I originally had in mind when I crawled up to him; I just longed to give him a kiss and show my affection. Now the hunger is rising even more and I know I have to have release. Without breaking contact of our lips other than for brief seconds to breathe I move closer and swing my right leg over his body, lowering myself down so that I’m straddling him. His hands travel down to my waist but when I begin to press my hips even closer to him he pulls back.

“Katniss” he says, out of breath. “This is not a good time or place.”

“Sure it is” I whisper, kissing him again.

“We’re not exactly alone” protests Peeta. “Gale and his roommates are in their rooms just down the hall.”

“Gale is with Jewel” I reply, running my hand down his chest. “In a relationship, in this house. Do you think they never do this? Of course they do.”

“Yeah, but...” He’s interrupted by another one of my kisses.

“We can be very quiet” I assure him even though I honestly don’t know if that’s true.

“Maybe _we_ can” he agrees. “I’m not so sure about the bed.”

It does squeak a lot but I could care less. I silence him with more hungry kisses and when I lift myself up a bit and slip my hand inside his boxers I know he’s done protesting. The boxers are quickly discarded along with my underwear but my nightgown stays on. Peeta’s hands are inside the fabric, touching me eagerly. I grab a hold of the bedpost behind him and gasp as passion overtakes me.

I don’t know how silent we end up being. The bed probably gives us away either way, as it creaks and whines with every thrust. I could care less. The other people in the house have ceased to exist. All I’m aware of in the world is Peeta and the things he does to me.

After a few minutes we pause briefly as he skids further down until he’s lying flat on his back with a pillow under his head. He then wraps his arms around my waist and I lean over him and kiss him tenderly while we continue to move together. When it’s over I end up falling asleep on top of him, my face nuzzled into the pillow by his neck. I haven’t felt this good in days.

 

 

I don’t sleep for very long and when I wake up I feel giddy and energetic like a little child. In my sleep I have rolled to the side but now I sit up in bed and nudge Peeta awake. He groans and rolls over but I’m persistent and begin to shake him.

“Peeta” I say sweetly. “Wake up.”

“Is it morning already?” he complains.

“No. Wake up, we’re heading outside.”

He opens his eyes and turns to look at me with a face that implies I’ve lost my mind. With a giggle I’m out of bed and pulling my underwear on. Peeta blinks and sits up and jolts a little when I toss his prosthetic in his lap.

“Come on!” I urge.

Something about my childish enthusiasm seems to get to him and he puts the prosthetic back on and then pulls up the underwear that were halfway down his legs when he went to sleep. He’s barely flung his legs over the side of the bed when I’m over on his side, grabbing him by the hands and pulling him up on his feet.

“Mind telling me what this is about?” he asks.

I shush him with a grin and take his hand in a firm grip, sneaking out of our room and down the creaking stairs. I lead him through the living room and out through the back door, then I let go of his hand and race down the slope, barely able to see where I set my feet. Peeta, who is much less awake and has his artificial leg to worry about, makes a slower descent than I do and by the time I reach the docks he is several yards behind me.

“Come on!” I cry.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“Swimming!”

I’m not sure what has gotten into me. I can hear him protesting but it’s too late, I have already leapt off the docks and into the water. The second I hit the surface I realize what a ludicrous idea this was. It may be warmer here than back home but it’s only the month of March and much of the warmth comes from the sun. It is the middle of the night, hardly more than ten degrees and the water is icy cold. I lose my breath completely when I go under water and I resurface with a strangled shriek.

“What on earth did you dream?” Peeta wonders, reaching the end of the docks but wisely staying on dry land. “What has gotten into you?”

“I don’t know” I say through clattering teeth, swimming back to the docks. The water is so cold it’s a bit hard to move. “Nor do I know how to get out of the water.”

I really did not think this through. I don’t remember if there was a ladder anywhere on the docks and the moon is not full so it doesn’t provide enough light for me to be able to find one in the darkness. Peeta gives me a worried look and kneels.

“Seriously, you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Get me out of the water first.”

He grabs me by the arm and pulls me straight up and onto the docks. I’m shivering so badly I can barely think, let alone talk, and he wraps his arms around me even though all the good that does is get him wet as well.

“Can you talk?” he asks.

“Barely” I stutter.

“Can you tell me why my normally sane wife wakes me up in the middle of the night to watch her run out into a freezing lake in mid-March? You’ve never done anything like this before.”

Instead of answering I begin to laugh. I can’t figure out why because I’m freezing cold and soaking wet and I’ve had a really rough day. Peeta waits for me to stop laughing and then I just shrug. Truth is I don’t know what’s gotten into me. When the laughter subsides I rest my cheek against his shoulder and the giddiness I felt moments ago disappears. I know I didn’t run out here out of childish excitement and playfulness. I think I just needed to blow off some steam, to escape for a moment from that house up the slope and from the ruins of what was once the most important friendship I had. I can’t explain what made me jump into the lake and I’m thankful that Peeta has stopped asking. He’s right, it’s not like me to do something like that. My mind goes to Gale and what he said out in the woods about me no longer being Katniss Everdeen. Is that how people will react tomorrow at the meeting? Like I’m some sort of traitor against myself for taking Peeta’s name?

“Katniss Mellark” I say out loud.

“What?”

I say the name again and for some reason add a little laugh.

“I like the sound of it” I tell my confused husband.

“I think your brain has frozen.”

“I mean it. I love how those two names sound together. Katniss Mellark...”

“You sound like a giddy bride, not like a woman who’s been calling herself by her married name for a year and a half.”

“Did Gale tell you he thinks it sounds odd?” I ask. “That I should forever stay Katniss Everdeen? Isn’t that completely ridiculous?”

“I see where he’s coming from” says Peeta. “I would have a hard time adjusting if your name had changed to Katniss Hawthorne.”

“Katniss Mellark...” I say again in a dramatic tone. “What sounds so weird about that?”

“I think Katniss Mellark needs to get back inside the house” says Peeta, releasing his grip on me and rising to his feet. The loss of his body heat makes me shiver even more. “Take my hand. Up on your feet.”

I get up on my own without the aid of his hand, wrapping my arms around myself in a futile attempt to keep some body heat. I notice that Peeta is only wearing pyjama pants and must be freezing as well since I have gotten him all wet.

“Sorry” I stutter through clattering teeth. “You must think I’m insane.”

“Kind of” he nods. “I also think you’ll get a pneumonia if you stay out here like this so be a good girl and come back inside.”

He takes my hand and leads me back up the slope. I look down on my bare feet as we walk, feeling like a complete idiot. What on earth is wrong with me? I used to be better at holding myself together under pressure. Now I crack and behave like a mad person just because I’m nervous and uncomfortable. I’ve heard about people who seem to hit a brick wall and after that they can never deal with stress again but that’s not me, is it?

Peeta leads me inside the house and up the stairs. When we reach our room he walks over and closes the open window while I quickly shrug out of my freezing nightgown and let it lie where it falls. Without drying off I get up on the bed and sit cross-legged with my teeth still clattering and my hands shivering as I wrap the thick comforter around myself. Peeta walks into the bathroom and grabs a pair of towels. He uses one to dry himself off, his pyjama pants now gone, and then gets into bed and uses the other to try and dry my hair.

“If I’d known you were this uncomfortable I would have found an excuse for us not to come here” he says gently. “I would definitely not have encouraged you to go out hunting with Gale. I thought you were doing alright. You seemed more than fine earlier today.”

“I felt fine” I say. “I don’t know what came over me. When I woke up it was like I just couldn’t breathe inside the house, for some reason, and at the same time I was on kind of a high from what we did before we went to sleep.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I can’t explain it, Peeta. I just... needed to blow off some steam I guess. Didn’t stop to think that the water might be freezing. I’m sorry you had to go out in the middle of the night and get cold and wet. Next time I’ll let you sleep.”

“Yeah? So who’s going to pull you out of the water?”

I laugh a little and his smile gets even warmer. It doesn’t seem to matter what crazy idea I get into my head or how cranky I act. He finds something loveable about me no matter what. That is why I always want him to be with me, even when I run outside in the middle of the night, acting on a crazy whim.

“I don’t think I ever appreciate you enough” I tell him.

“I beg to differ” answers Peeta, combing his fingers through my wet hair.

“Look at you” I say. “You’re damp, probably cold and you’re awake when you should be fast asleep. And you’re smiling at me. I wouldn’t have held it against you if you’d told me to go to sleep and not bother you again tonight.”

“I like being bothered by you” he claims, his fingers getting caught in a tangle in my hair. “I like being the one you want to bother. Because the truth is that if there was someone else you’d rather bother this way, that would bother me more.”

In my still quite cold and increasingly tired state I can’t quite follow that train of thought so I say nothing and lean in closer to him, absorbing as much warmth as I can from him, physically and emotionally. Even though he was out there with me and I got him wet he feels so warm. The towel he used to try and dry my hair is now lying on my lap and I throw it down on the floor. Peeta braids my hair for me and when he’s done I lie down to get some rest. I’m still so cold that I shiver and his warm body is more than welcome when he lays it on top of mine.

Silently he places tender kisses on my brow, my nose, my cheek. He works his way further down, very slowly, warming me both outside and inside. His hot breath tickles my belly and I giggle a little. His kisses travel further down, eventually nestling between my legs, and my hand grabs his hair as I let out a gasp.

“Stop, Peeta” I whimper after a few minutes.

He looks up at me, surprised.

“Really?”

“There’s no way I can keep it down if you keep that up.”

He moves back up my body until we’re face to face. For a moment we look at each other in silence and then our bodies join together with a delicious thrust of his hips. I let out a gasp, unprepared for him to do that when I just asked him not to pleasure me with his mouth, but not at all displeased with his actions.

It is slow and gentle and goes on for an eternity yet not for long enough. We move together in perfect sync, the rhythm of lovers who have been together for years and have perfected this dance. We can read each other so well by now that it feels like we can simply sense when the other wants or needs for it to be slower or faster. It makes me feel so connected to him that it almost tops the pleasure from the highly intimate connection of our bodies. Not a sound is heard except for our heavy breathing, the occasional whimper or moan and the faint creaking of the bed.

By the time our pace begins to quicken I am no longer cold. He has brought warmth back to me, as he always does, and I can feel droplets of sweat running down my body. I begin to think that maybe Peeta and Hazelle are right. If Peeta dies before me and I lose this connection, this warmth, I might grieve myself to death.

 

 

Seven hours later it’s a whole other Peeta who sits opposite me at the large, oval table in the meeting room of the town’s City Hall. Gone is his tenderness, playfulness and that light he has in his eyes whenever we’re having sex. Right now Peeta is contemplative and serious, sporting a frown as he studies the agenda we’ve all been handed. A few times his eyes meet mine but there’s no hint of romance in them, only seriousness.

Me, I’m more tired than anything else and I keep having to hide yawns behind my hand. The meeting hasn’t started yet, everyone is settling into their seats and mumbling amongst each other, and I know it’s going to be several hours before I can get some rest. Running around outside in the middle of the night when I ought to have been getting a good night’s sleep clearly wasn’t a smart idea.

There are twelve of us present in the room. Myself, Peeta and Gale were among the first to arrive and Gale is now seated to my right while Peeta sits across from me, about five feet away on the other side of the conference table. Next to him sits Johanna Mason who doesn’t seem very jolly today and complains about a group of children who ran around in the hallways of her hotel last night, screaming and playing and disturbing her peace.

Enobaria sits further down at the table and looks completely disinterested. I’m not even sure why she’s here. Most people consider her more than a little bit crazy and frightening and something of a war criminal at that. Her status as a victor kept her alive after the war due to the Mockingjay Act but she’s been held far away from any public or political life until today and I don’t even know which part of Panem she lives in. She doesn’t look like she wants to be here at all but as a former victor she is expected to attend. The only one in our exclusive six-person club who isn’t here is Annie Odair whose son has the measles.

Haymitch sits at the high end of the table together with Cicero Perth, an official from the Capitol. He’s minister of something or other or maybe he’s governor of somewhere or mayor or something. I haven’t bothered keeping track with who holds what political office these past few years. All I really know about him is that he arrived from the Capitol last night together with Haymitch and that the two of them are running this meeting in place of the vice president who is still tied up with something else.

To my left sits Plutarch Heavensbee, who is the same as ever. He’s talking to some government official sitting across from him and the sound of his voice in my ear annoys me at this early hour. The remaining people at the table are unfamiliar faces to me, though Gale and Haymitch seem to know all of them. It does not surprise me that Gale does but I marvel at how Haymitch seems to be so in the know about all things political when all I ever seem to see him do is drink white liquor, eat our food and bark at geese.

“Should we get started?” suggests Cicero.

“By all means” yawns Johanna.

What follows is two hours of what feels like pointless discussion about trivial matters such as what to call the former districts and what to name the towns. I vote strongly against naming anything after Hunger Games victors and nor surprisingly the other four victors around the table agree. The matter is left unsolved and I can only agree wholeheartedly with Johanna when she wonders why we were all dragged to former District 2 to discuss something that any group of idiots in the Capitol could have decided on.

“Miss Mason, if this meeting was only about what to name our districts and towns then you would be the last person we summoned” says Cicero dryly.

“I still say Crab County is a perfect name for former Four” shrugs Johanna and I hear Gale chuckle at the memory of some of her more colourful suggestions.

“If you had bothered to read the agenda you would know we’ve got greater issues to discuss as this meeting progresses” continues Cicero.

“Yeah, I read the damn agenda” says Johanna, holding up the paper airplane she folded out of it. “Number eight was a very ominously sounding ‘ _Panem_ ’. Or it would have been ominous if it wasn’t so _vague_.”

“Can’t we just skip points three to seven and go straight to eight?” suggests the man sitting next to her. “I think we all would like to know why we’re really here.”

“You mean besides giving crafty names to the districts?” says Haymitch, a tone of amused sarcasm in his voice.

“Having names for the districts is not a small matter” objects Cicero. “It’s been four years since the war ended and people still don’t know what to call the various regions of the country.”

“Yes but what does all of that have to do with us?” asks the man sitting opposite Plutarch. “Why don’t you just host a damn TV special about it and let people vote? Why are _we_ wasting our time talking about it?”

“Killing nine birds in one stone” shrugs Haymitch, referring to the total of topics on the agenda. “But you’re right. Let’s cut to the chase before Johanna’s head explodes and Katniss falls asleep.”

“Fine” says Cicero and leans in over the table with a sombre expression. “It’s been... four years since the war ended. Things have changed a lot. Unfortunately...”

“Unfortunately what?” asks Gale.

“Unfortunately it hasn’t quite turned out the way we expected.”

“You expected it to?” I say dryly. “If there’s anything we all should have learned by now it’s that nothing turns out the way we expect.”

“Everybody was positive after the war” continues Cicero. “Paylor was elected president. A government was being built. We were going to have order and peace and return to the ideals of our forefathers. Freedom and equality for all.”

“And?” shrugs Johanna. “Seems quite orderly and free around here to me.”

“Four years and they haven’t even been able to agree on names for the former districts” remarks Peeta. He doesn’t sound at all surprised. “The new government may be more peaceful than the old one but it’s hardly efficient.”

“Exactly” nods Cicero.

“Question is, what do you expect _us_ to do about it?”

Cicero launches into a long monologue about how everyone started out with grand ideals and visions of the future but how it’s turned out to be far more difficult than they could have ever expected. I barely pay attention to any of it. To me it seems so obvious. Of course things haven’t run smoothly. They are a bunch of people born and raised in Panem as controlled by Snow and all they know about a republican form of government is what they have read in books. For some reason they seemed to think it would be easy to adapt the old system to present day Panem but it was never going to be that easy. Then he finally comes around to telling us why we are all here.

“The way we’re ruling Panem is not working” he says, his voice bitter. “Everybody around this table was either a key figure during the rebellion or a victor in the Hunger Games. For that reason you have been selected for this... parliament, if you will.”

“You keep alluding to us having to make a choice of some sort” says Gale. “How about telling us what that choice is?”

Cicero sighs deeply and then looks around the room, his eyes meeting each one of ours in turn. He sits up straight and harks.

“Should Panem change its form of government?”

You could probably hear a hairpin drop in the moments that follow. Nobody talks for about two minutes, each reflecting on what Cicero just said. I share a look with Peeta across the table and by the look in his eyes I can tell he thinks this is as crazy as I do. Why should Panem change its form of government and why should we be the ones to decide?

“We’re not politicians” I say finally. “Why are you asking us?”

“Because they’re going to want, _need_ , our support for whatever they decide to do” says Enobaria in a low voice.

Suddenly I feel like I’m back in District 13 feeling like nothing more than a pawn in somebody else’s war. It makes me sick and I pull up my legs on the chair and wrap my arms around my knees. I’m so lost in my own thoughts and discomfort that I barely notice that an argument begins to break out around the table. Then I hear somebody jokingly suggest we should make Paylor queen and leave it at that and this jolts me out of my thoughts. Even though the comment was meant as a joke I scowl at the person who said it, finding nothing even remotely funny about a ruling system that would place absolute power in one person’s hands. It didn’t work with Snow and it won’t work with anyone else.

The argument continues for almost an hour. What worries me is that little by little the tone begins to shift. Arguments are brought forth that the republican government we now have is not working and that as much as we hated Snow some things did run smoother under his rule and that if the alternative is to fall back into the chaos that existed before the Capitol first took control then maybe a more sovereign rule is the lesser of two evils. Someone claims that the ancient Roman civilization sometimes appointed dictators to rule on their own for a limited time and that perhaps we could do the same. At first I object to any such thoughts but when people around me start to sound more and more convinced that we need to radically change the way our country is governed I go silent, trying hard to find the right words to say to steer them away from this line of thought but coming up with nothing.

“You have all lost your minds” says Johanna instead. “What, you want to choose a monarch and then retreat back to your own corners? Somebody who can, at any time she chooses, decide that we need Hunger Games again?”

“Kings and queens don’t necessarily have absolute power” argues Cicero and I marvel at how we’re even discussing it like it’s a real option. “They have ruled with parliament.”

“Well then why appoint a damn king or queen in the first place if it’s just going to be a president with a stupider title?”

The discussion gets more and more heated and I start to feel seriously concerned. Finally I try to make my voice heard about the various voices arguing over each other.

“Are you even hearing yourselves?” I say loudly. “Give the republic a damn chance!”

“We have” snarls the man sitting next to Gale. “It hasn’t worked, now has it?”

The argument continues for a moment. Then there’s a brief lull of silence, broken by Peeta’s calm voice.

“I think...” he begins, and since he has yet to speak at all during this discussion people actually keep quiet and listen. “We are naive if we think four years is going to be all it takes to make a whole new system of government work. None of us has ever lived in a republic before. None of us knows the practical details. It’s going to take a few years more, probably, or maybe even a whole genereation before it runs smoothly but even then it’s not going to be perfect. No system of government ever will be. Why are we even debating as if we can find the perfect solution? I think it can be made to work. Republics have worked in the past.”

“So have monarchies” Enobaria points out.

“Look to Rome” says Cicero. “They had a period of republic and it ended up leading to civil war. Then came the time when emperors held control and it lasted for several hundred years.”

“The Roman republic fell because it was too divided” replies Peeta, though how he knows anything about Rome is a mystery to me. “Two consuls ruling the senate together for a year at a time. No wonder it ended in chaos. We’re not talking about modelling Panem after Rome several thousands of years ago. We’re talking about modelling it after countries that existed a few _hundred_ years ago. Most of those republics had one person as the head of state and a parliament that helped govern. I think that is the key. We can never have a country where every citizen gets a vote in every matter. The plan was to elect people to make the tough decisions and put one person as the head, one person who could take ultimate responsibility and make the hardest decisions and who could be removed if need be. That seems to be working.”

“People may be arguing over things like what to name the districts or how the tax system ought to work” someone else at the table says. “But we have peace. There’s some measure of safety that we won’t end up with a despot such as Snow or Coin.”

“Those are not exactly small matters to argue over” retorts Cicero. “How long before everything falls apart?”

“We’re not living in anarchy” Peeta points out.

“No but we might, real soon.”

“And making somebody an absolute ruler is going to change that?” I reply. “I agree that we might need some changes but why have we suddenly begun to talk as if the only other option is monarchy or dictatorship? An hour ago we were discussing a lot of other options.”

“I don’t know about anyone else around this table,” says Peeta, “but I did not go through all that I went through during the war just to end up right back where we started even after we’ve won. Why aren’t we discussing the ways to make the current government _work_ instead of discussing what to replace it with?”

“I agree with the Mellarks” says Haymitch, who has been silent up until now. “The republic should stay. It should be modified but it should stay.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Of course it has its issues but you’re all morons if you think that switching to another form of government will change that. All that would accomplish is set us back precisely four years.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re cooped up in a cosy Victor’s Village all the way over in former Twelve” snorts one of the men around the table.

“I just spent the past three days in the Capitol and I talked to President Paylor” replies Haymitch. “As for my tributes, they may not be involved with the politics but nobody around this table knows better than they do what the effects of a totalitarian rule can have.”

“Nobody is advocating a totalitarian rule” mutters Enobaria.

“Nobody except you” counters Haymitch. His eyes move to the person sitting next to her. “And you. And so on.”

“It’s pointless for all of us to argue about it” says Peeta. “The ultimate decision is not in our hands. I can tell you though that I will never support a change in government unless you can present me with an option that’s a hell of a lot better than anything I’ve heard today.”

“Neither will I” I say. I turn to Plutarch. “And if you want to silence me the way President Coin tried to--”

“Nobody is silencing you, Katniss” says Plutarch.

“In the end it will come down to two choices if you continue like this” says Peeta. “Either people will be allowed to vote on whether the republic continues or we find a more... centralized rule. I can tell you right now that people won’t give away their freedom so easily.”

“It’s not about taking their freedom!” objects Cicero. “Nobody here is suggesting enslaving the people of Panem the way it used to be. I do, however, think we need to give more power to Paylor for a while so that things can get in order. It may sound harsh to you or to anyone who’s not involved with the politics but people don’t always know what’s good for them.”

“Thank you, that ties in nicely with what I was about to continue with” says Peeta, “If you want Paylor to get near-absolute power, even for a limited time period, you’re going to have to overrule the will of the citizens. That makes you no better than Snow or Alma Coin.”

“Nor are there any guarantees that Paylor would do a good job” adds Johanna. She’s been quiet for most of the discussion, seemingly not even listening. For the past half-hour she’s been playing hang man with a barely cooperative Peeta, constantly scribbling on the back of his agenda sheet and giving him a nudge every so often to get him to look at it and write down a letter.

“No kings, no queens” I say. “No dictators. Nobody gets absolute power.”

“Not even for a little while” adds Peeta.

“I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture” argues Cicero. He turns to the man by his side. “Haymitch?”

“Like I said. I’m with the Mellarks.”

“Really?” questions Cicero. “You spoke to Paylor yourself. You know what our reasoning is behind all this.”

“Paylor wants to know what the common man of Panem would think” says Haymitch. “My former tributes may not know their way around a political dilemma but they know what the common people think. I had a feeling they would vote this way and that’s what I told Paylor.”

“So why even ask the rest of us?” questions Gale.

He doesn’t get an answer. Johanna laughs a little and looks up from the sheet of paper where she just won another round of hang man.

“I’m really bored with all this” she announces. “Paylor’s a semi-smart woman. She’ll need all of us to endorse it if she wants full power for a while and she knows that. She’s not going to get it, Cicero, and from what I hear that fact upsets you more than it upsets her. Just accept that we vote against this and let’s move on.”

“As I recall we haven’t voted at all” says Cicero.

Haymitch groans but calls a vote. I don’t know if a cooling down period made everybody see sense or if Peeta once again managed to charm his audience with nothing but his words but the vote ends up being 8-4 in favour of keeping things the way they are.

“Alright then” says Cicero in a defeated tone.

“Ha” cackles Johanna, clearly amused by it all. “Don’t feel so bad about it, Cicero. With little miss figurehead unsupportive of your brilliant plot you never would have gotten people on board with it anyway.”

“We get it, Johanna” says Plutarch, who seems to get more annoyed every time she opens her mouth today.

“I’m just saying” shrugs Johanna. She turns to Cicero and sends the paper airplane flying in his direction. “Although I do admit I’m intrigued. Seems pretty obvious to me that Katniss would never support this idea given what she did to the last person who tried to claim absolute power over Panem. And how did you plan on getting the lovebird to sing your song?” She gives Peeta a nudge with her elbow. “Were you going to torture him again?”

“Johanna it’s about time for you to take a time-out” replies Peeta. “And you misspelled ‘tool head’. There’s an A in there, not two Es.”

She glances over at the paper.

“Well you still get the point” she shrugs. She nods in Cicero’s direction. “He _is_ a tool head. Can we move on from this sordid business already?”

 

 

It’s afternoon by the time we’re finally done with the meeting. Several issues have been discussed but the mood in the room got somewhat dampened after the drawn-out argument about point number eight. I’m glad to be out of that conference room, swearing to myself that I won’t get involved with any political issues in at least another four years.

There is a night train leaving in three hours and we have decided to take it back home instead of waiting for the next one that runs early in the morning in another two days time. Gale has called Jewel and she will bring over our things from the house. We were invited over for dinner before we leave but we declined, opting instead to eat with Johanna and Beetee at their hotel.

There’s a small balcony on the floor where we had our meeting and while I wait for everyone to get ready to leave I step out for some air. It’s chilly out and I’m a bit cold but I don’t mind much. It’s good to get to breathe some fresh air and not be confined in a room with eleven other people, discussing matters I don’t feel qualified to made decisions about.

I’ve been out here for only a few minutes when the door opens behind me. At first I expect Peeta but the footsteps don’t belong to him. Instead it’s Gale who comes up next to me, placing his arms on the railing and staring out at the town beneath us.

“So what do you make of all that?” he asks.

“Which parts?” I ask, shivering a little.

“The whole republic versus monarchy crap.” He snorts a little and stares out at the town without seemingly seeing it. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anyone involved with the new republic would support it, especially Paylor.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t Paylor’s idea” I suggest.

“Maybe not” says Gale. “There’s something very weird about it. If Paylor wants absolute power why doesn’t she just take it? If she doesn’t want it then what is this whole circus about?”

“I don’t know, Gale. I don’t even know that I care.”

“Can we trust Paylor?”

“Haymitch seems to.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

“He may be a drunk” I say. “But he knows what he’s talking about. I trust him with my life and, by extension, that means trusting him in this too.”

Gale laughs, short and joylessly.

“He referred to you as _the Mellarks_.” He emphasizes it in a way that makes it sound like a cuss word. I don’t know what to say to that so I say nothing. “Does he do that often?”

“Maybe” I say evasively. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Another short, joyless laugh.

“It’s like you don’t even have your own identity anymore.”

I give him a look that’s a mix between bewilderment and amusement.

“We’re two people sharing one last name. Referring to us by that name plural is more efficient than saying both our first names. Why does it even matter to you?”

“Because” says Gale, his jaw clenched. “It’s like you don’t have your own identity anymore.”

“Well, then neither does Peeta.”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher but before he can say anything else the door behind us open and Johanna sticks out her head.

“Katniss!” she says. “Come on, let’s go. I’m starving and that man of yours is _really_ bad at hangman. Next time I’m playing Beetee.”

“You should go” agrees Gale. He eyes me up and down. “Probably not a good idea for you to keep standing out here and get freezing cold two evenings in a row.”

I’m glad it’s getting dark so it’s harder to see that I’m blushing. So he knows about my escapade out on the docks last night? If we were loud enough to wake him up does that mean his roommates know about it too? I felt idiotic enough when just Peeta knew about it but the idea of Gale and three others knowing about it too makes me glad that we’re not going back to that house.

“See you, Gale” I mumble and hurriedly follow Johanna back inside.

 

 

That night on the train we share our compartment with Haymitch. He claims the bottom bunk and informs us under no uncertain terms that we had better not disturb his sleep. He pulls up the curtain that shields us from his view and prevents him from rolling off the narrow bunk and Peeta and I share a look. We’ve only been in the compartment for about ten minutes and it’s not all _that_ late.

Since neither one of us is sleepy we make our way to the dining cart. They offer a small selection of alcoholic beverages and Peeta smirks at me and orders a bottle of wine, probably just so he can tell Haymitch tomorrow what he missed out on.

“That must have been the longest meeting of my life” I complain, using my right hand to massage my neck. “Do you know, at one point I actually found myself longing back to Mr. Bolle’s math class? And I _hated_ math.”

The corner of Peeta’s mouth turns up to a half-smile but he doesn’t respond. He’s writing something on a napkin and when he’s done he pushes it across the table for me to read. I look at it and chuckle. It’s a game of hangman.

I write down the letter A and send the paper back across the table. Peeta puts an A in the third line of the first word. There are three words in total and when he sends the paper back to me I keep going with the vowels, writing an E.

“You seemed to have fun with Johanna today” I tease while we continue the game and slowly empty the bottle of wine.

“You could call it that” shrugs Peeta, drawing the head of the hangman because the letter R is not in there. “It’s much more fun playing with you, though.”

Eventually I manage to guess his sentence without getting hanged. By this time we’ve already had two glasses of wine each and I’m starting to feel rather tipsy.

“’That meeting blew’?” I say, looking up from the paper.

“Hey, at least it’s better than Johanna’s ‘Cicero is a tool head’” smirks Peeta. “Or, ‘tool _heed_ ’, as she spelled it.”

Deciding we’ve had enough for one night we leave the bottle on the table, still about half-full, though Peeta suggests we pour it down the drain and then tell Haymitch that we disposed of alcohol in such an undignified manner. I giggle the way I only do when I’m affected by alcohol and grab Peeta by the sleeve to bring him back to our compartment. We make it back without stumbling, which is quite an achievement on this bumpy train even when you’re entirely sober. We sneak into the compartment where Haymitch appears to be asleep. There’s barely room to change out of our clothes and brush our teeth but somehow we manage without making too much noise.

“Top bunk or middle?” whispers Peeta.

“Top” I whisper back. It will be difficult for him to climb up there on the narrow ladder without his prosthetic leg.

Peeta kisses me goodnight and climbs up to the middle bunk with a bit of difficulty. His prosthetic is lying on the floor but I decide to pick it up and stuff it in the compartment by the top bunk. This prosthetic might be a bad fit these days but it won’t get any better from Haymitch stepping on it tomorrow morning.

Once I’m up in my own bunk I lie down and try to get some sleep. I should be exhausted. I got little sleep last night, sat through the longest meeting of all time and wine always makes me drowsy. Still I can’t seem to come to rest. My mind keeps going back to Peeta’s goodnight kiss. He usually kisses me goodnight when we’re snuggled together under the covers, not on the floor before we crawl up into separate bunks.

It only takes me a few minutes to make up my mind. I climb halfway down the ladder and rap my nails against the curtain of Peeta’s bunk. At first I’m not sure he’s heard me but then he pulls it down and gives me a surprised look.

“Katniss? You didn’t have a nightmare already, did you?”

“I haven’t gone to sleep yet” I tell him. “Make room.”

Looking perplexed he rolls over on his side and scoots as far back as possible. I climb in next to him, ending up pressed against him and still feeling like I’m uncomfortably close to the edge. His hands reach around me and try to pull the curtain back up so I don’t fall out. It takes a lot of fumbling in the tight space but eventually we get it into place.

“Hi” I then tell him, face so close to his that our noses nearly brush.

“Hey” he whispers back. He looks concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I don’t know if that’s the truth or a lie. I feel funny but I can’t put my finger to why. Everything should be good now. The meeting is behind us, meeting Gale is behind me. We’re on our way home. “It’s weird not sleeping next to you. I got cold up there.”

He leans closer, pressing his forehead against mine to check my temperature.

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” he asks.

“No. Just got cold without you near.”

“Well you’re going to get hot down here” says Peeta with a hint of a smile, draping his right leg across mine. “Pressed together like this in such a small space is bound to make things sweaty. And I don’t even mean that in the naughty sense.”

I smile a little. He’s right, it’s going to get really warm like this. I don’t care. I won’t be able to sleep here with him anyway and will be heading back up to my own bunk before long. I wish I could stay but the heat, the narrow space and the rocking of the train would make it impossible for either one of us to get any rest. We’d be constantly waking each other up all night.

“I’m glad we’re heading home” I say.

“Me too” says Peeta. “I wasn’t looking forward to this whole thing and I’m glad it’s behind us. I want to sleep in my own bed and eat in my own kitchen and not play five rounds of dirty madlibs with Johanna while Plutarch Heavensbee goes on and on about public broadcasting.”

The train rocks with enough force that Peeta’s back bumps into the wall and I bump into him. The trains we rode on in connection to the Games were never this bumpy. They were always so smooth you could barely feel that you were travelling. I like that this train rocks. It sets it apart from the past train rides of my life and there’s something soothing about its motions.

“So, you’re not going to like this” says Peeta. “Plutarch spoke to me while you were out on the balcony... They’re planning on building a statue of you and placing it in the new main square of the Capitol.”

“A statue?” I echo, saying the word as if it were an abomination. “They want to build a statue of me?” I groan with frustration. “I thought I was _done_ being their stupid Mockingjay.”

“I know” says Peeta softly.

“I’ll never escape it though, will I?”

“You meant a lot to a lot of people during the war. You still mean a lot to a lot of people. For good or for bad you are a symbol of the rebellion and they want to commemorate that. Plutarch gave me this whole spiel about a statue of you being a true inspiration to the people.”

“Why was Plutarch telling you all this and not me?” I ask with a frown, wondering if there might be something to what Gale said earlier about me having lost my identity and been morphed into one with Peeta.

“They, uh...” Peeta looks down for a second and then meets my eyes again. “They want me to design it. I told them no.”

“Tell them yes” I reply with barely a second’s pause.

“Katniss.”

“Give Plutarch a call when we’re back home and tell him you’ll do it.”

“You don’t want that statue” objects Peeta. “How can I design a statue of my wife when she doesn’t want it in the first place? You hate the very idea of it.”

“They’re going to build it anyway” I say. “I would much rather it was designed by you than by anybody else. If there has to be a statue then I’d want people to look at it and see me through your eyes. Maybe then they’ll see something else than just the figurehead of the revolution.”

“But it _is_ just a figurehead of the revolution” says Peeta. “A role you hate. All people will see when they look at it is the Mockingjay and all it will be is a tribute to that part of your life.”

“Not if you design it” I insist. “Then it will be a husband’s tribute to his wife.”

“Can both my tributes shut the hell up and go to sleep?” grumbles Haymitch from the bottom bunk, startling us a bit. “If you think you’re _whispering_ , think again. You can discuss this dilemma and be sweeter to each other than the boy’s sugar cookies when you’re back in your own house tomorrow. Katniss go to your bunk.”

I hold back a chuckle and share an amused look with Peeta.

“Sorry Haymitch!” I say in my normal tone of voice.

“You’ll be alright?” asks Peeta in a whisper.

I nod.

“Just one thing before I go back up there...”

“What’s that?”

I kiss him lovingly. The kind of good night kiss I’m used to, with us both together in bed, sharing a comforter, sheet or blanket. I smile and caress his cheek, preparing myself to leave him and go up to my own bunk. Truthfully it will be kind of nice to get up there and be able to go to sleep. The steady rocking of the train is beginning to make me sleepy.

“Hey Katniss?” says Peeta.

“Yes?”

“How are you planning on getting out of the bunk?”

I turn my head to look over my shoulder and realize he has a point. I can’t roll over on my back or I’ll rip the curtain and fall out. I have not thought this through at all and Peeta looks awfully amused by it. I hark loudly.

“Hey Haymitch! Since you’re up, you’re going to have to do me a favour.”

 

 

The night of Gale’s visit to Twelve I lie awake long after going to bed, thinking about the things Gale and I talked about and everything it means. My mind keeps going back to what he said about how I acted when I thought Peeta was lost to me for good way back in District 13. I can’t seem to relax at all and after a while I turn my head to look at Peeta. I know he’s still awake because his breath has yet to become slow and even and he’s not snoring.

“Peeta...” I say. “I’m scared.”

In that moment I long so badly to be able to just turn around and lie face to face with him, pressing my body as close to him as possible. I don’t want a pregnant belly in-between us, preventing me from being as close to him as I need to be. I can’t even lie on my back and feel him curve around me because for a few weeks now I’ve been getting lightheaded and more nauseous whenever I’ve been on my back for too long. I decide to roll over and look at him anyway because I feel too distant from him when I’m facing the other way. I need to talk, to get some of my fears off my chest.

“What if I end up just like my mother?” I ask.

“How do you mean?” he asks, looking at me through half-opened eyes.

“The way she reacted when my father died and she left Prim and me to fend for ourselves. You know the things I went through; those were some of the things I swore I would never risk putting a child of my own through. But what if you die? What if I lose you and become just like my mother and leave this poor baby all on its own?”

To my complete surprise he actually laughs a little.

“Katniss I don’t think there’s any risk at all of that happening.”

“There’s nothing funny about this. And it already _did_ happen.” I shudder at the dark memories. “When you were captured by the Capitol... and later when you returned and had been hijacked... I reacted similarly to the way my mother did when she lost my father. You weren’t there, Peeta, you didn’t see it. I just wanted to die. To kill Snow and then die.”

“Yet you kept on fighting” says Peeta . He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by my words. “You have that instinct to protect those you love. Just look at what you did for Prim at the reaping. You can’t convince me that a woman who would do that when she was still a teenager would not look after her children as an adult.”

“Yet what if I do turn out that way?”

He shrugs.

“I suppose I’ll just have to stay alive, then.”

He smiles warmly at me and gently strokes my cheek. I wish again that I could creep as close as possible and feel his arms wrap around me, pulling me close and safe.

“During the war I once overheard a conversation between you and Gale” I tell him. “About me. You thought I was asleep. Gale said that I would pick whichever one of you I thought I would need to survive.”

“I remember.”

“It wasn’t a very loving thing to say.”

“Maybe not” shrugs Peeta. “But I can tell you, it’s a heck of a lot easier to think of it in terms like that when you’re in love with someone who might love another more.”

“I did choose the one I knew I needed in order to survive, but not like the way you both made it sound.”

“I know” nods Peeta. “I knew it then, too. Katniss Everdeen would never choose to be with somebody unless she loves them enough that she can’t bear living without them.”

A smile spreads across my face and I begin to feel a bit better. He understands. He always did. What’s still scary, though, is if Gale was right and I literally need Peeta to survive. Like what Hazelle once said.

“I can’t live without you” I tell him. “I would be lost if I lost you. If you go then you take with you my happiness, my hope for the future, all of my strength. It scares me that this could happen and that our child might suffer even more because I can’t handle it. Just like things went with my mother.”

“If I do die when this baby is still young and needs his or her mother then I know you will be able to take proper care of him or her. It’s just the way you are, Katniss. You’re not your mother. You are the person who at age sixteen volunteered in her sister’s place at the reaping. We may be each other’s main source of happiness now but this baby will be, too. If I’m your hope for the future this baby _is_ the future. And you never needed me to be strong. It was the other way around.”

“Perhaps I was strong on my own when I first entered the arena” I say. “That was different. Once you’ve given your heart to someone part of your strength lies in them.”

“You talk as if I’m going back into another arena” frowns Peeta. “I don’t intend on dying anytime soon. I want to live and watch this baby grow. I want to be with you until I’m so old that moss starts to grow in my hair.” That makes me chuckle and he grins at me. “Katniss I know that nothing is certain and nobody knows how long they’ll live but there’s no point in worrying about it. If that moment does come that I die when our child is little I know that there is no way you would let my child go hungry or uncared for.”

I don’t know exactly what he means when he says _his_ child rather than _mine_ or _ours_. Maybe he doesn’t mean anything at all. In my mind it feels reassuring, like a reminder that even if I do lose him I will always have a part of him in the baby I’m carrying. He’s right. There is no way I would let Peeta’s child go hungry, no matter what.

“Now, turn around” he instructs and I roll over like a good girl. He aligns himself to me and wraps his right arm around me, his palm resting on my belly. “You know, for whatever it’s worth Katniss I think everybody feels this way when they’re having their first baby. I think everybody worries that they won’t do a good job taking care of their kid.” He leans above me and kisses my cheek before settling back the way he was. “We’ll do just fine, you and me. We have each other. I’m not going anywhere.”

His body feels warm and safe so close to mine. I feel a surge of the longing from earlier in the day but I’m too tired to try and initiate anything now. Just having him close is enough. He’s not dead or dying. He is right here with me. And he always will be.

 

 

He lets me sleep the next morning when he gets up to tend to the cakes in need of frosting. By the time I wake up it’s almost nine o’clock which is late for me on a weekday. Peeta keeps telling me to stay in bed and relax whenever I feel like it since I won’t get much of a chance once the baby is born and since the toll that the pregnancy is taking on me means I need more rest. Probably sound advice but I decide not to follow it. At least not by lingering in bed. I love spending half the day in bed but that’s only when Peeta is with me. What fun is it to just lie there on your own and stare at the walls?

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I’m not accustomed yet to the way my body feels nowadays. Much more weight, different distribution of weight, slower in my movements... With a huff I rise and walk into the bathroom. Taking a long, hot bath is something I can enjoy on my own. I’m starving so I turn the faucet on, set it to the right temperature and let the bathtub begin to fill while I pull a nightgown around me and head down the stairs in search of calories.

Peeta is in the kitchen, wearing his apron and a concentrated facial expression as he decorates carrot cupcakes. The cupcakes have already been topped with my favourite icing and now he’s decorating them by drawing tiny little carrots with a more standard sugar icing. I’m a big fan of his carrot cupcakes, even more so since I’ve been pregnant, and briefly I consider having one of them for breakfast. I quickly discard the idea, knowing it will only make me throw up.

“Good morning” I say as I walk in.

He looks up and greets me with that smile that always warms my heart.

“Hey there, sleepyhead. Did you get a good night’s rest?”

“As good as can be expected with a tiny person kicking me every now and then.” I walk up to him and he straightens back up and gives me a kiss. “Mmm, you taste like frosting.”

“Had to taste it and see that it turned out good. I left some for you in the green bowl on the counter. It’s been sitting there for about an hour but it should be fine.”

A wide smile spreads across my face and I walk over to the counter.

“Peeta, you are fantastic!” I exclaim. I reach for the bowl but pause. “Though I shouldn’t. I’m queasy, as usual.”

“I figured you might be” answers Peeta. “But I thought I’d let you be the judge on whether or not you feel up to eating it.”

“You are adorable” I grin. “Oh, every pregnant woman should have a husband who makes delicious frosting and leaves some in a bowl for her.”

“Tell you what,” says Peeta, back to leaning over the cupcakes, “I am going to miss your spontaneous pregnancy-induced hormonal outbursts.”

I ignore the comment and stare longingly at the bowl. I run my finger through the rim, ending up with a coating of frosting. I stick it in my mouth and make a pleasured noise as I lick it off.

“I will definitely get sick and throw up if I eat this” I say. “And I don’t even care. It’s worth it.” I grab the spoon and fill it with frosting.

“Hey!” says Peeta sternly.

Surprised I turn around and see him glaring at me with an eyebrow raised, still leaning over his cupcakes.

“What?” I ask.

“We parent by example. Don’t teach the baby improper behaviour. Eat some proper breakfast before you feast on the frosting.”

I give him a look but obediently put the spoon back in the bowl.

“Do we have anything that’s quick?” I ask.

“Patience, love” chuckles Peeta.

“I have a bath running upstairs.”

“Okay” he replies, straightening his back and setting his piping bag down on the counter next to the tray of cupcakes. He walks over to me and runs his finger in the bowl, getting his own taste of the frosting. “Tell me what you want for breakfast, then. I’ll get it ready while you go upstairs and make sure the bathtub doesn’t run over. I’ll bring you both breakfast and dessert.”

With a smile I wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“So that’s something we want to teach the baby?” I tease. “That eating in the bathtub is okay behaviour?”

He casts a glance at my belly.

“The baby’s pretty much bathing all the time anyway” he says.

I roll my eyes, ask for an omelette and kiss him on the cheek.

 

 

It feels so good to sink down into the hot water, letting it ease the aches and relax my tense muscles. The water almost splashes over when I lean back and let my shoulders sink below the surface. I forgot there’s more of my body to make room for these days, although the top of my belly still sticks out if I lie in the wrong angle.

After about fifteen minutes Peeta comes in carrying a tray with an omelette, a glass of orange juice and the frosting poured over into a little cup complete with a spoon. He sets it down on the stool I placed next to the tub, gives my forehead a kiss and heads back down to tend to his cupcakes. I finish my breakfast slowly, finding it rather uncomfortable to eat while soaking in hot water, then I lean back and close my eyes, stroking my stomach with both hands, enjoying the rest. The baby seems to enjoy it too, or at least it’s not kicking. I think it’s fallen asleep and soon I’m lulled off too.

I wake up some time later, not knowing for how long I’ve napped. The water has gotten cold and I’m shivering, feeling sick to my stomach again. I decide against washing my hair and grab a hold of the side of the tub to help push myself up to a standing position. The water splashes all around me; I feel even colder now that most of my skin is above water level. Before he went back downstairs Peeta put a large towel on the towel warmer, somehow predicting that I would stay in the tub until I got cold, and I add it to the list of things he does for me that I never seem to appreciate him enough for.

I swing one leg over the side of the tub and almost lose my balance. A curse passes over my lips. After all these years of being a huntress I’m used to having really good control over my body and I hate how these past few weeks I’ve been having a harder time keeping my balance than my one-legged husband. Still, I manage to get out of the tub without falling and hurting myself and I hurriedly grab the towel and wrap it around myself, revelling in its warmth.

Once I’m no longer shivering I start to feel a bit better. I cast a glance at the toilet, determined not to be bending over it today. The past five days all included me throwing up followed by Peeta forcing me to drink fluid replacements. It would be nice to have a break from this routine for at least a day or two. I had thought the nausea would end once I entered my second trimester but so far it has been pretty much the same. It’s not always causing me to vomit but it’s usually there to some degree or other.

Slowly I dry off and get dressed. I sit in front of the vanity in our bedroom, studying my long, dark hair in the mirror while I try to comb through it. It’s difficult when it’s wet but eventually I manage to sort out the tangles and do one long braid without pulling out too many strains of hair in the process.

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear the doorbell ring followed by Peeta’s footsteps. I feel a hard kick from the baby and stop for a moment, closing my eyes and placing my hand on my stomach in the vain hope that it might calm the baby. I’m getting used to the more tentative kicks but whenever I feel a particularly hard one that fear washes over me again.

I open my eyes and hear voices coming from downstairs, moving from the hall towards the kitchen. Peeta’s voice answered by another familiar one.

“... need to talk to her” says Gale. “Yesterday I... said some things I shouldn’t have. Made her upset.” An awkward pause. “I, uh, assume she told you.”

“No” answers Peeta. “None of my business what you two talk about. Katniss is upstairs taking a bath but come have a seat. Come to think of it she’s been in that tub for a while now. If you want I can go upstairs and ask her to come down.”

“That’s alright” says Gale. “I’ll wait.”

I hear them walk into the kitchen. Slowly I sink down until I’m sitting on the stairs, my hand still on my belly. I wasn’t expecting Gale to show up and I’m far from convinced I want to talk to him. It feels more and more like whatever we meant to each other once is far gone and we’re better off not being in each other’s lives at all.

“Cupcake?” offers Peeta.

“Sure” answers Gale. “Why not?”

I cringe. I don’t want to hear about anything edible right now or it might become six days in a row of me leaning over the toilet.

“These are good” I hear Gale say. “The frosting is incredible.”

“It’s Katniss’ favourite. She could eat a whole bowl full, I gather.”

A bit of awkward silence follows. I wish Gale could just leave already; I don’t want to talk to him and I don’t want him sitting in our kitchen eating my husband’s cupcakes.

“Why don’t I just go upstairs and tell her that you’re here?” offers Peeta. “She might be out of the tub but unaware that we have a visitor.”

A sense of stress runs through me. How will I be able to stand up and get up the stairs in time to not be found here by Peeta?

“No, that’s okay” says Gale, solving the problem for me. “Let her enjoy her bath. It’s almost lunchtime so I assume she’ll come down once she’s done.” I hear him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I came here to apologize to her but the truth is I owe you an apology, too.”

“Me?” says Peeta.

“I haven’t shown enough respect for you, or for her feelings for you, or for your marriage.” I can hear from Gale’s voice that it’s difficult for him to say this. “Yesterday I even... I said something to her that implied I didn’t think you had a marriage based on mutual love. I know that you do but...”

There’s a brief moment of silence and I wait to hear what Peeta will say in response. Part of me sympathises with Gale but a bigger part of me is tired of his disrespect and wants to hear Peeta tell him off.

“It’s okay” says Peeta, though I can tell from his voice that he’s hesitant to say it. “I understand.”

“No” replies Gale. “I don’t think you do. Because you’re not like that. Do you have any idea how infuriating it was when your rival was somebody so damn likeable? If Katniss had chosen me you would have been happy for her.”

“You’re not?”

“I am. I want her to be happy. I just wanted it to be with me.”

“Yeah” chuckles Peeta. “That’s pretty much how it goes. Don’t think I’m any different than you in that regard.” There’s a brief pause and I hear the sound of the faucet running followed by the kettle being placed on the stove. “I don’t _mind_ that you still have feelings for Katniss. I don’t have monopoly on loving her. If our roles were reversed I would still be in love with her.”

“That’s what’s weird” mutters Gale in a pensive tone. “I don’t know that I necessarily _am_ in love with Katniss. Which is part of why I owe you an apology, Peeta. She’ll always have a part of my heart, just as the old cliché with first loves go, but truthfully I don’t think about her all that much. Not when I’m in Former Two living my life. It’s just... whenever I see her the old feelings resurface, especially when you guys have moved further in your relationship.”

“The pregnancy?”

“The pregnancy” sighs Gale. “Before that, the marriage. It’s like it reminds me of the life I wanted with her but didn’t get to have.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

“We argued yesterday. I said some things I really shouldn’t have said and afterward I went to my hotel and thought about it all night. Fact is I’m not even sure I meant everything I said to her out in the woods.”

“You don’t have to tell me any of this” says Peeta calmly. “Whatever happened yesterday, whatever your feelings for her, it’s between you and Katniss.”

“No, I definitely owe you an explanation” argues Gale. “I’ve been a jerk to you, just not to your face. I _am_ happy that Katniss is with you. You’re good for her; she thrives with you. Anyone can see it. You two are a better match than she and I would have been because Katniss and I are too much alike. We cancel each other out.”

“I don’t think it necessarily works like that” says Peeta, and I hear the sound of water poured into mugs. “The heart wants what the heart wants. Whether you are alike or different doesn’t have to come into play. Here.”

“Thanks” says Gale. I hear the clatter of a mug.

“Want another cupcake?”

“Sure.” Then he sounds hesitant. “You’re not selling these?”

“I always makes extra. Like I said, Katniss loves them.”

“So I’m eating a pregnant woman’s cupcakes? Doesn’t seem like a good strategy for an apology.”

“I can make more.”

I roll my eyes. Enough with the damn cupcake talk already. I’m a little annoyed with Peeta for keeping Gale here and feeding him tea and cupcakes. Sometimes his whole I’m-always-nice-to-people side gets out of hand.

“I realized something last night while I couldn’t sleep” says Gale. Oh goody. There’s more. “I don’t know that it’s the fact that she married you and not me that makes me so jealous. I think it has more to do with you being her best friend now.”

“I’m not sure I follow” says Peeta.

“I don’t expect you to. No offense. It’s just, you always had a lot of friends. I had Katniss. Only Katniss. We had something special together as friends. I’ve never had another friend like that. I miss her friendship more than anything else, miss talking to her, miss having her help me work out problems, miss hunting with her. She’s _your_ best friend now and you are hers. It hurts. It doesn’t make sense, especially after all this time, but it hurts.”

“Friendship is not exclusive” argues Peeta. “Nor does it have to be so strongly linked to marriage. Katniss wouldn’t be any less a wife to me if somebody other than me was her best friend.”

“Whether that is true or not you’re still her best friend. I’ve seen it, every time I’ve seen you together. I remember that time you came to Former Two; I saw you out on the docks in the middle of the night. She was laughing, having fun, it was two great friends I saw out there. It bothered me more than when I _heard_ you later that night.”

My cheeks go bright red. He heard what, exactly?

“I suppose marriage in a way is two best friends sharing their lives together” muses Peeta.

“Not necessarily” replies Gale. “Trust me. I’ve been married three times. The love was there but the friendship wasn’t. Not the way I wish it had been.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” There’s a slight pause. “I don’t begrudge what you have with Katniss. I think I knew where her heart truly lay long before she made her final decision. I remember feeling a bit of hope when you both went back into the arena, when you were captured, when you had been hijacked. Sounds horrible, I know. But if you were no longer an option maybe I could be. In the end I accepted that she wants you. But I’m still bitter that you got to be her best friend, too.”

To me it sounds an awful lot like he _is_ begrudging Peeta what we share. For a moment there I had begun to feel more sympathetic towards him but now I’m getting annoyed again.

“What I don’t understand is why you don’t just talk to Katniss?” says Peeta. “She can be your friend all she wants as far as I’m concerned. Your best friend, even.”

“Katniss and I will never be friends again, not the way we were. Not because of you or your marriage but because of _her_.” Prim’s face flashes before my eyes and gives me a lump in my throat. “You can’t tell me she’s gotten over my role in Prim’s death.”

“She’ll never get over losing her sister” answers Peeta. “Whether or not she can forgive you for whatever part you played is not for me to say.”

“At least I know she hasn’t yet. Or you would know about it.” He pushes his chair back. “I should get going. Thanks for the tea and cupcakes.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go get Katniss?”

“Have her call me. If she wants to. I have to go or I’ll be late for my meeting.”

Their footsteps move from the kitchen and to the hall. The door opens.

“Gale” says Peeta. “I don’t know what role you played in my sister-in-law’s death and I’m guessing you don’t know for sure either. What I do know is she would probably have died a lot sooner if it hadn’t been for you. You helped Katniss feed her, you provided for her when we were in the arena, Katniss told me you saved her during the bombing of District 13. Katniss might never forget how Prim died but she also won’t forget the things you did to help her. So go easy on yourself.”

What he says surprises me. I don’t remember ever telling Peeta how Gale helped save Prim on several occasions. I don’t remember even acknowledging that thought over the past decade and a half; it has seemed like an offense to Prim given how it all turned out in the end. Yet he’s right. I find myself marveling at how he’s saying this to Gale, the man who was his rival. If some woman was showing interest in Peeta I would much sooner threaten her with my bow and arrows than try to make her feel better.

“Thank you” says Gale in such a low voice I barely even hear it.

Then the door closes and Peeta’s steps return to the kitchen. I remain seated on the stairs for a moment, then with some effort get myself up to a standing position. Only now do I realize that eavesdropping on that conversation was a pretty lousy thing to do yet I’m still glad I did. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen where Peeta is washing dishes.

“Hey, you” he says, casting a glance at me over his shoulder. “Enjoy your bath?”

“It got cold.”

He smiles and puts the last bowl to dry.

“So do you want to call him?” He chuckles when he sees the look on my face. “What, you think I didn’t know you were listening? My lovely, your steps aren’t quite as soft and silent as when you’re not carrying a baby.”

“Did he know?” I ask nervously.

Peeta shrugs.

“Maybe. He seemed to say to me what he ought to have said to you and then he left, so I suppose it’s possible he knew you were listening and just found it easier this way.”

I pick up a towel and begin to dry the dishes.

“I can’t believe you gave him my cupcakes.”

“There’s plenty left.” He turns around and leans against the counter with a pensive frown. “Did any of it make sense to you? Because, I’ll be honest, it didn’t to me.”

“Me neither” I say. “I’m not sure _Gale_ knows what he’s really feeling. Time was I could practically tell what he was thinking at any given moment and now I don’t understand any of it.”

“I feel bad for him. I think deep down he’s just damaged from the war, like you, me and Haymitch. Only nobody was able to help him put the pieces back together. I think he does miss your friendship. I also thinks he still has some lingering feelings for you though exactly how strong they are I can’t say. Then there’s probably a part of him that wants to move on completely and not look back.”

“You always want to believe good about people” I frown, finding it rather annoying that he sympathizes with Gale when Gale has repeatedly disrespected him.

“I know” grins Peeta. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Yes. How can you feel bad for him? Broken heart or no, that still gives him no right to act shocked that I actually _love_ you.”

“It’s easy for me to sympathize” shrugs Peeta. “That could so easily have been me.”

I put the towel down and turn to face him. At first I’m not entirely sure what he means. Does he mean he could have been broken the way he thinks Gale might be or does he think he might have ended up the one still in love with me even though I chose another man fifteen years ago? I realize it doesn’t matter which, my reply is still the same.

“That could never have been you” I say. “It could never _be_ you. You’re not like that. When people like Gale or me break we go to a very dark place but you have too much light in you to ever do that. You were _hijacked_ yet you overcame it, because of who you are.”

“It took a lot more than that.”

I step as close to him as I can with the baby in-between us and reach up my hand to caress his cheek. His eyes meet mine, those eyes I could stare into forever, that seem to represent everything soft and gentle in the world. My other hand brushes the hair away from his brow and I’m overcome with emotion that is probably hormone related since it happens so strong and so fast. He means everything to me. His face is the most beautiful one I could imagine. Everything about him is all that I need. I swallow, pushing down the tears that threaten to fill my eyes.

I’m definitely hormonal. But the feeling itself is one I’ve had for fifteen years now.

“It was always going to end this way” I tell him. “It was always going to be you because right from the start it _was_ you. Because of who you are and what you make me feel.” All the longing I felt yesterday comes back and I wish fervently I could press my body up against his without a bump between us. I need to feel his skin on mine, his lips and his tongue and his touch. He opens his mouth to respond to me but I silence him with a kiss. “I know you have work to do… but would you play hooky for the day and follow me upstairs? I need you. Real bad.”

His passionate kiss is answer enough. With our hands intertwined we leave the kitchen and go upstairs to focus on nothing but each other.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Gale comes off rather... all over the place here. That was intentional. The idea is that he's not really sure himself what he feels and he's been carrying a lot of thoughts and feelings around for fifteen years and can't really make sense of them now. I hope it didn't seem messy or illogical.


	7. Plutarch

An urge to clean up and organize has overcome me, growing stronger with each passing week. I lie awake at night, tossing and turning, thinking of more and more things in our home that need to be made ready for the baby. Rooms that are too dirty, sheets that are too old, things that are not in order. At first Peeta tries to help me out with my nesting but he soon decides to withdraw to his kitchen or his painting rather than deal with a hormonal and increasingly frightened wife on a mission to make our home immaculate. So I dust, organize, throw out and show no mercy to any room. Every single space has to be perfect before I can relax about it. When I need some heavy lifting done or there is anything else I can’t do on my own it’s usually up to a sullen Haymitch to assist me.

The one room I don’t touch is Peeta’s drawing room. Not because I don’t want to; believe me it only takes one quick glance for me to find at least three dozen things in there that I want to sort out, throw out or clean up. It’s Peeta who won’t let me. The drawing room is his domain and he likes it the way it is and he insists that if I start rummaging around in there he won’t be able to find anything when he needs it. I want to fight him about it but he offers a compromise – the baby will not be let inside the room unsupervised until the age of about fifty-five or so – and the matter is settled.

Once I’m done making sure things are neat and tidy I try and relax, thinking everything is ready now. Then it occurs to me that there are still countless potential death traps in the house. Sharp edges on furniture, stairs to fall down head-first, a dozen knives in the kitchen. Forget the dangers that await outside the safe confinements of our home, this baby will face numerous dangers in the very house he or she is born into.

“Katniss, there’s nothing to worry about” says Peeta in a voice that implies that he is getting a little tired of my freshly developed obsessive-compulsive disorder. “The baby won’t be getting around on his or her own for months. We can make sure everything is safe by and by.”

That does not appeal to me at all.

“Why wait?” I ask, stretching my aching legs out in front of me on the couch where I am taking a well-earned rest after having organized everything in Peeta’s closet by colour. Really, my old prep team would be proud of me. “Peeta how can we bring a baby into this house if there are death traps _everywhere_? It is our job now, for the _rest_ of our _lives_ , to keep this person protected.”

“From the dangers of a spice rack not in alphabetical order?” asks Peeta dryly.

“That’s just good sense” I say with a wave of my hand. “I don’t know how you find anything in that mess of a kitchen.”

“I don’t, anymore” he sighs.

“Could you get me one of those apple cakes?” I ask, the talk of the spice rack reminding me of the cakes he baked earlier in the day.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes...” he says, rising from his seat with a sigh, “I probably tripped and fell over the threshold and knocked my head on the sharp edge of a newspaper and bled to death.”

“You’re not funny” I say, giving his leg a smack as he walks by me.

I lean further back and let out a heavy sigh, wrapping my arms around my increasingly huge belly. All I want to do right now is eat my apple cake and take a nap. My eyes fall shut and I’m about to get a head start on that nap when a hard kick makes me wince. I glare down at my belly and shake my head.

“You and I need to have a serious talk about timing” I tell the baby. “Why do you always insist on kicking me like that when I’m trying to get some sleep, huh?”

I let out another sigh. Then I frown. How long does it take to get one apple cake? Peeta has been gone for several minutes by now. Steadying myself on my elbows I push myself up a little and turn my head in the direction of the kitchen. Where is he? What is he doing?

“Peeta?”

“Just a minute” he answers from the kitchen.

Since when does he need more than one minute to begin with to get cake? I’m just about to harshly ask him what he’s doing when he returns, carrying the cake on a small platter in his left hand and a green bucket in his right. I’m very familiar with that bucket. He likes to fill it up with hot water and stick his foot in it while we watch TV in the evenings. He has a tendency to put more weight on his right leg than his left to avoid straining the stump of his leg against the prosthetic and that makes his foot ache by the end of the day. My frown deepens. Couldn’t he have waited to get that bucket until I had gotten my cake? I’m easily irritated these days and stupid things like this are more likely to set me off than legitimate things to complain about.

“Okay, sit up” orders Peeta.

“But I just got comfortable” I complain.

“You’re about to get more comfortable.”

“I doubt it.”

He sets the plate down on the table and the bucket on the floor, then grabs me by the hand and helps me up to a sitting position with my feet back on the floor.

“I feel bad for your feet” he tells me. “They’re looking pretty swollen these days and you’ve been on them almost all day. Plus they carry both your weight and the baby’s.”

“Yeah they hurt” I acknowledge. “Which is why I was happy to put them up for a moment.”

“Here, put them in some hot water instead.”

Oh, so he brought the bucket for me. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve never tried his method of relieving achy feet before but I figure it can’t hurt to do it now. Peeta has to help me get my feet into the water since I can’t even see them, much less the bucket. There’s not really space for two swollen legs in there at once but I decide they can crowd together for a little while. It feels surprisingly good to have the warm water surround my aching feet and I let out a content sigh.

“That’s the kind of sound I like to hear” teases Peeta, giving me a light kiss. “Now be a good girl and eat your cake.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I practically wolf down the cake and then lean back against the couch cushions. Meanwhile he has reached for the remote and is flipping through the channels in the hopes of finding something entertaining to watch.

“The water is really nice” I tell him.

“I know” he smiles, pausing for a moment to determine whether he wants to watch a gardening show but quickly deciding against it. “I take it you’re done cleaning for the day?”

“I don’t know. There’s so much left to do and so little time to do it in.”

“It can wait until tomorrow. Just relax and take the evening off.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulders, rests his head against me and pulls his feet up under him. I close my eyes and smile at the feeling of his face nuzzled at my neck and his hand lovingly stroking my stomach. The baby seems to respond to his touch and kicks which makes Peeta let out a short, happy chuckle.

“I think he really likes when you do that” I say.

“He?” echoes Peeta. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s grinning at me and the grin gets wider when there’s another kick. “It’s so exciting that it’s only a couple of months to go now before we find out.”

“Which also means only a couple of months to go before we need to have everything ready” I say. A thought occurs to me. “Peeta when was the last time we dusted the bookshelf in here?”

“That would be my cue to leave” announces Peeta and rises.

“I thought you were watching TV.”

“Nothing good on anyway. I’ll be upstairs. I’m working on something for the nursery.”

He hurries off before I can put him on dusting duty. When his footsteps have disappeared up the stairs something else occurs to me. How am I going to get my feet out of the bucket without knocking it over when I can’t see what I’m doing?

 

 

The closer I get to the end of my pregnancy the more things I realize that we need to get. The baby needs a crib to sleep in, a changing table, diapers, bottles, clothes to wear, soon enough a high chair to sit in and who knows what else? Though it turns out we don’t have to worry ourselves with this too much because a lot of the people in the area give us gifts for the baby, which apparently is a tradition that evolved after the war when such things were hard to come by. At first we both feel wrong to accept them but I soon decide that if people choose to give us things then we should not be ungrateful and turn them down. I could care less if the changing table has been used before or if the rattle is not brand new. Peeta is harder to convince, feeling awkward accepting presents he doesn’t feel like he’s earned, but after a while he grudgingly agrees to accept some of the less expensive gifts.

The month of December turns out to bring quite bad weather but when we do get a couple of days of sunshine I venture in to town to buy some baby clothes. Back when we were little not a lot of baby clothes were purchased from a store, instead people made their own or the babies wore what siblings or cousins or neighbours had worn before them. In the past ten years or so the market for baby items has grown considerably larger and since I haven’t even so much as tried knitting or sewing in ages and I know Peeta has no talent for either I decide to buy instead of make.

I come back home with a large box of clothes and arrange them all around me on the bed, studying them with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Peeta comes walking in and takes a seat on the bed with me, eyeing the things I bought. He doesn’t say anything at first, then he picks up a little green pyjamas and holds it up to my stomach.

“It doesn’t really look big enough to fit whoever’s in there” he comments. “And you still have two more months to go. It’s crazy to think about.”

“The baby’s smaller than you think” I say with dismay, rubbing my stomach with my hand. “All I can think of when I see these clothes is how fragile anyone has to be when they’re small enough to fit in them.”

“You’ll feel better when the baby wears bigger clothes, then?” Peeta teases with a smile.

“Look at this” I say, picking up a tiny sock. “Imagine the size of the toes on someone who can fit into these socks.”

“It’s too bad everything we wore as infants was destroyed” Peeta frowns, picking up a white shirt that I figured both a boy or a girl could wear.

“Please” I snort. “Don’t try to tell me _your_ mother saved your baby clothes.”

“Of course she did” says Peeta nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t she? We may have been a merchant family but we weren’t exactly rich. Whichever one of us boys had babies first would most likely have inherited them.”

I find it hardly surprising that my dead mother-in-law would have held on to her children’s baby clothes for monetary reasons rather than sentimental. My mother, on the other hand, kept mine and Prim’s old clothes stored in a box in the cellar and I remember once walking in on her looking through the tiny garments with a loving smile on her face. The kind of smile I can’t even imagine Peeta’s mother having. Of course, this was back when my father was still alive and before I tried to sell Prim’s baby clothes to feed us.

“I suppose there’s no need for us to hang on to all of this when our baby is grown” muses Peeta, holding up a pair of tiny green overalls. “Except for future siblings to wear, I mean. On the other hand we have a large attic and hopefully we’ll one day have grandchildren.”

“Oh good” I say. “More tiny little people to worry about.”

Peeta chuckles.

“Okay, you’re right. We should focus only on our firstborn for now.”

I nod and take the overalls from him, laying them out on the bed and lovingly smoothening them. My eyes move from one item of clothing to the next, trying to imagine putting them on a little infant. _My_ infant with Peeta. I quite often wish that this baby would need more than just nine months of gestation. As long as it’s in me I can protect it, keep it safe and warm and nourished. Once it’s born I can’t offer that kind of security. Most people tell us that once the child has arrived we won’t be getting any sleep for months because the baby will keep us up and I think they’re absolutely right. Only, it won’t be the baby’s crying that will keep me up. I can’t imagine being able to get a moment’s sleep when I have such a fragile little being to protect. I imagine I will be sitting by the crib whenever the baby sleeps, watching over him or her like a hawk, making sure every breath comes when it should.

Yeah there is no way I will be getting any rest for the nearest lifetime or so.

“We still need to get a stroller” Peeta reminds me. “I talked to Mr. Bosworth and he says he’s got three in store. Tomorrow I’m thinking I’ll go over there and look at them before one or more get sold. Do you want to come with me?”

To inspect our baby’s primary mode of transportation other than the secure arms of his or her parents? Absolutely.

“We shouldn’t buy anything from Mr. Bosworth just because he’s the only person in town selling strollers” I say.

“Okay” says Peeta, looking confused.

“If we don’t find anything to our liking we’ll order something from the Capitol.”

“Katniss, a stroller might not arrive from the Capitol in time for the baby to be born.”

“Does it matter? It will be mid-winter when the baby comes; I’m not taking my infant outside until the snows have begun to melt.”

“Maybe you aren’t but I am.” My mouth drops but before I can form a response the bed dips and Peeta is on the floor. “I’m heading downstairs to get dinner started. Come down when you’re done admiring our baby’s adorable little outfits.” He leans over and kisses my forehead. “I’m making stew. Not as good as the one you make but I’ll throw in some cheese buns to make it more appealing.”

The next thing I know he’s out the door, whistling happily to himself as he trots down the stairs. My eyes trail from the door to the collection of baby clothes on the bed and the frown is back on my face. His movements have disrupted the display I had created. I immediately begin to straighten the clothes out and place them properly. God, does he have no sense of order? And to think he has always been the tidy one.

 

 

When I finally come to the point where I can’t find anything else in our home that needs cleaning up I head over to Haymitch to start the same process there. He is, of course, anything but grateful. He doesn’t particularly like having people cleaning up around him even for his own sake, let alone me doing it for the sake of my unborn baby.

“You have lost your marbles completely, sweetheart” he snarls at me when I stalk right past him to begin my work in his rarely used dining room. “If you’re being driven crazy by your condition it’s Peeta you should take it out on. He’s the one who got you in this state. Leave me out of it.”

“This place is a pig sty” I retort, wondering how I will be able to bend down and pick up all the junk strewn across the floor.

“Lucky it’s none of your concern” Haymitch drawls.

“How can you live like this?” I question, the smell almost too much for my still nauseous stomach to handle.

“I guess some of us aren’t obsessed with tidying up.”

“Clearly.” I shake my head and place my hands where my waist once used to be. “Looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

An hour later I’m doing my best to mop up the floor without knocking over any of the stacks of old letters and newspapers I’ve piled up to throw out. Haymitch, who went into another room to find something suitably strong to drink to sustain him through my visit, comes back in and tosses an empty bottle at the pile of newspapers, sending it toppling over. I scowl at him and angrily toss the mop to the side.

“What was that good for?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“My house, my rules.”

“Do you know how long it took me to pile all that stuff?” I snarl. “I can barely bend over!”

“Nobody asked you to pile it” he points out angrily. “I can’t believe you’re such a stereotype.” He throws himself down on the couch and puts his feet up. “I guess even a mockingjay goes through a crazy nesting phase when she’s knocked up.”

“I should gather up every pregnant woman in town” I retort, sending him a death glare. “Together we might be able to make some headway in this dump. Would you put the flask away? I’m getting a contact high for crying out loud.”

“That’s just Peeta Jr. eating your brain” Haymitch grins.

“We’re not going to name the kid that” I say, snatching the bottle from his hand and tossing it in the waste bin.

“Haymitch Jr. has a nice ring to it” he smirks.

“Yeah” I scoff. “That will be the day.”

“You know, maybe you should consider toning down on the crazy and getting some rest” suggests Haymitch, propping himself up on his elbow. “Once that kid pops out you’re not going to get much of it for about eighteen years.”

“How is caring for a small child any different than looking after you?” I snarl.

“Let’s direct that question at your husband, sweetheart” answers Haymitch. “He’s the helpful, caring one. You’re the annoying one. I don’t care if you are pregnant, I am _done_ suffering you today. Go home and take your hormones out on the boy. Leave me out of it.”

“Fine!” I snarl. “Lie here, stewing in your own filth. What do I care?”

I make my way back to the front door, furious at being unable to stride and having to settle for an undignified waddle. The only parting I get from Haymitch as I grab my coat and fling the door open is a loud burp coming from the living room. Making a disgusted face I slam the door shut and grab the railing to help keep me from slipping on the icy steps that lead from the front porch down to the ground. Pulling my jacket closer around me I make my way back to my own house, stomping my shoes against the wall to rid them of snow before I open the door to step inside. They’re actually Peeta’s shoes, since my feet are too swollen for my own ones.

“Haymitch is the worst” I complain to Peeta as soon as I’m through the door. I take off my coat and scarf and hang them up neatly but leave the shoes on for now, thinking Peeta can help get them off my feet. “That place of his is a dump and he won’t let me clean it up.”

I waddle into the kitchen in search of something to nibble on and someone to listen to my complaints. I stop on the threshold when I see that Peeta is crouched over a chair, holding on to the back of it for dear life, clenching his jaw in a far too familiar way. I haven’t seen him like this in a while, not since I got pregnant in fact, but I knew this would happen again sooner or later. He’s having one of his flashbacks.

Instinctively I move closer. Over the last six or seven years we’ve learned that I don’t actually help the situation by leaving as I always used to do. The most effective thing I can do is the exact opposite – to go to him, hold him and remind him that his visions aren’t real. That my love for him is what’s real. But when I attempt to do that today his head snaps up and he stares at me with those eyes that frighten me so. Those eyes that are darker than his normal eye color with pupils dilating and contracting at rapid speed. Eyes that don’t belong to my husband.

“Don’t!” he hisses viciously.

“Peeta--” I begin.

“Get away from me!” shouts Peeta. The next thing I know the porcelain fruit bowl on the table, the one Annie sent us for our tenth anniversary, goes flying across the room and shatters against the wall. “Get out! _Get out_!”

I can’t remember the last time I saw him actually act out this way during a flashback. Since he came back from the Capitol his flashbacks have mostly been introvert struggles where he latches on to something and holds on tight while he battles his inner demons. Seeing him throw things and hearing him yell at me frightens me and triggers a maternal instinct to protect myself and thereby protect my unborn child. With both hands on my pregnant belly as if to shield it I back away from him towards the kitchen door.

“Are you deaf, mutt?” cries Peeta. “I said get _out_!”

My fumbling hand finds the doorknob and I stumble out the door, grabbing a hold of the outside windowsill to try and steady myself. I find my balance and quickly make my way towards Haymitch’s house without bothering to close the kitchen door behind me. It’s cold out and I don’t have my coat but Haymitch’s house is only a stone’s throw from ours so I’m pulling his kitchen door open within half a minute and slamming it hard behind me, leaning against it with my eyes closed, panting from fear and discomfort. What just happened?

“Damn it Katniss” barks Haymitch from the living room and tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I can’t take harsh words from him too. I hear him rise from the couch and his voice gets louder as he walks towards the kitchen. “I told you to go back home and stop bothering me. This is my house and it’s not even my kid and…” He stops talking when he sees me. I slowly open my eyes, shaking with sobs. “What happened? What did he do?”

“Flashback” I manage to get out.

Haymitch strides over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking me sternly in the eyes. He seems completely sober now even though he was drinking less than ten minutes ago.

“Did he hurt you?”

The fact that he even asks the question breaks my heart.

“He frightened me” I hiccup between my sobs.

“To get you to leave” surmises Haymitch. “So that he _wouldn’t_ hurt you.”

He steps to my side and then pulls me closer, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder without my pregnant belly getting in-between. One of his hands wrap around me and the other cradles the back of my head, offering me comfort while I sob against his shoulder. I don’t cry for long. I never cry for long when I’m crying from fear. Once my sobs subside he releases his grip on me and I pull back, arching my back a bit and bringing my hands to the small of my back. It’s aching now, worse every day, just another thing to add to my list of discomforts.

“Do you want anything?” asks Haymitch.

“Except brutally murder those who came up with the concept of hijacking and every damn bastard who laid hands on him while he was Snow’s prisoner?”

“Anything to eat or drink?”

“What do you have?” I ask with a sigh, going to take a seat by his kitchen table.

“Not much” he admits and opens a cabinet. “Want an orange?”

“Give it here.”

He tosses it to me and I catch it with my right hand. Instead of eating it I bounce it back and forth between my hands, trying to come to grips with what just happened in my own kitchen.

“Is it usually this bad?” asks Haymitch in a low voice, sitting down opposite me.

“What?” I ask, looking up.

“Neither one of you ever tells me and I never ask. Is it usually this bad?”

“If it was I wouldn’t react this way now.”

“You would if you have a baby to protect. Everything is different when you’re a parent. That includes Peeta’s… episodes.”

I’m quiet for a moment.

“He’s never yelled at me before. Not since the war. Nor has he thrown things…”

“At you?”

“No.” I fight back another sob and look up at the man sitting across the table. “Haymitch what if he hurts himself?”

“You need to calm yourself, sweetheart” says Haymitch in that annoying tone he tends to use when he thinks I’m getting worked up over nothing. “We want to keep that blood pressure from getting even higher.” He rises from his chair and walks around the table to put an arm around my shoulders. “Come along. You’ve had a rough half-hour and you should get some rest.”

“Rest?” I scoff.

“Come on” he urges gently, getting me on my feet. “I can see that your back is killing you and I know you get exhausted when you cry. The guest bedroom downstairs is actually not too messy. I bet you could lie down there and get some sleep without setting off another cleaning frenzy.” By now he’s led me out into the hallway and in the direction of the guest room.

“Haymitch, please” I complain. “I can’t get any rest. I’m worried about him.”

“I know, sweetheart” answers Haymitch, opening the door by a light kick of his foot. “But there’s nothing you can do for him right now. He told you to leave for a reason.”

“So, what, I just stay here until it’s over? There’s no specific time limit to these things. They could last ten minutes or three hours.” He sits me down on the bed, which I admit does look comfortable. “Afterward he’s completely wiped out. Exhausted. I usually get him to bed once it’s over and let him sleep.”

“I’m not saying we leave Peeta to his own devices” says Haymitch calmly. “I’m simply saying you need rest and you should not be in that house right now. I’m going over there.”

“What?”

“The boy has taken care of me enough times when I’ve been a mess” mutters Haymitch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it over my shoulders. “About time I returned the favor.”

I wrap the blanket around me, looking at my hands, ashamed of myself for being surprised that Haymitch would go over there and help Peeta through this when I can’t. Of course Haymitch would do that. He’s always looked after us, in his own way.

“Thank you.”

“Get some rest” orders Haymitch. “I’ll be back when he’s snapped out of it.”

He leaves and I lie down on the bed, closing my eyes. Weariness washes over me and before I know it I have drifted off to sleep.

 

 

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep but it doesn’t feel like nearly long enough. It takes a moment to recognize the sound that woke me but when I do I sit up, which takes a bit of effort, and stand up, which takes even more effort. I walk slowly out of the guest room and to the kitchen where the phone is ringing, loud enough to have woken me. Our phone doesn’t ring nearly as loudly but Peeta had Beetee send us an exceptionally loud phone over a decade ago so that it could hopefully raise a drunken Haymitch from his slumbers.

Wincing at the pain in my back and feeling incredibly weary I pick up the phone and answer it. It may not be my house but I know who’s calling and I know it’s for me.

“Haymitch” I say. “Is he okay?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘okay’” answers Haymitch, sounding as weary as I am. “He’s himself again, at least. He’s in the living room, pretending to eat the soup I made for him.”

I close my eyes and swallow hard.

“Thank you” I manage.

“I think he scared himself as much as he scared you” sighs Haymitch. “I don’t know… I usually don’t see him when he gets this way.”

“It’s good that you fed him” I say, opening my eyes. “He needs food and rest.”

“He needs a hell of a lot more than that but I don’t know what, exactly.”

“Neither do I.”

“Anyway, I’m heading home. He’s out of his flashback and there’s not much else I can do for him tonight. I just called to see if you want me to stay until you get home or if you want to spend the night in my guest room.” He pauses. “The boy is fine with that.”

“No, I’m coming home” I say. “Please stay with him till I get there.”

I hang up without bothering to end the conversation properly. One look out the window confirms that it’s been a while since I fell asleep. It’s pitch dark out and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that I left home in a hurry without a coat. It takes me a few minutes to find a coat of Haymitch’s that will fit me in my current state and that isn’t worn to pieces and/or stinks of white liquor. Making a mental note to do a proper clean-out of Haymitch’s closets I wrap myself in the coat and head for home.

I walk in through the front door and let the coat lie where it falls. I don’t bother announcing my presence. Both of them must have heard me come in. I take a seat by the door and with some effort pull the shoes off my feet, realizing I slept in them and momentarily worrying about the condition of the bedspread in Haymitch’s guest room. Then I discard the thought. I walk to the kitchen and find Haymitch pouring soup into a bowl with his back turned to me.

“You need some food too, sweetheart” he says before I can open my mouth. “I sincerely doubt you’ve helped yourself to the riches of my kitchen, which means you’ve eaten nothing in at least five hours. Don’t give me that look!” I let out an offended grunt, wondering how he could possibly know what look is on my face when he can’t see me. “If the boy doesn’t want to eat his dinner I won’t force it. God only knows what he’s feeling at the moment. But you,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder, “have a baby to worry about. So you’re eating.”

“I haven’t said I wouldn’t” I point out.

“Only because you haven’t had a chance to get a word in yet” replies Haymitch. “Sit.” I reluctantly do as ordered and watch as he brings me a bowl of steaming hot soup. “I know you’re anxious to get in there but nothing’s going to happen to him in the next ten minutes. No seeing your husband until you’ve finished your dinner.”

“Yes, _Dad_ ” I snort but I don’t fight the issue and Haymitch sits down next to me. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Had some before I called you.”

I accept this with a shrug and concentrate on the soup. It tastes quite good and I’m starving. I end up eating two bowls full before I stand up and take a deep breath to gather myself, my eyes lingering at the door that leads to the living room. There hasn’t been a word from Peeta since I got back. I wonder if he’s even still awake.

“Just one more thing before you go…” I tell Haymitch. “If he’s fallen asleep I need your help getting him upstairs. I can’t carry him in this condition.”

“Or ever” snorts Haymitch. “The boy’s awake.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I doubt he can get any sleep now that you’re back.” Haymitch gets up and brings my empty bowl over to the counter. “He’s afraid of seeing you after…” He doesn’t finish the sentence and he doesn’t have to. He walks over to the kitchen door and grabs the coat lying on the counter right next to it. “Go in and see him. You both need it. Call me if you need anything else.”

With that he’s gone and Peeta and I are alone. As fast as I’m able to move I head to the living room, stopping at the threshold when I see my husband. He’s on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his palms. I can see his breathing is shaky and judging by the state of his ruffled hair and disshelved clothing, not to mention the hours that have passed since I first found him in a flashback, I know he had quite a row. At first I’m not sure he’s aware of my presence but then he looks up at me and the look in his eyes breaks my heart.

Without a word I walk over to wrap my arms around him but he shakes his head no and I stop a few feet away from him.

“I could have hurt you” he says, his voice broken. “I could have hurt our baby.”

He’s sitting as far left on the couch as he can go which means the coffee table is not right in front of him. Making use of that space I sink down on the floor by his knees and take his hands in mine. He doesn’t protest but he shuts his eyes tight and leans his head back, fighting with himself but at least not with the flashback demons.

“No” I say softly. “You couldn’t have. You could never hurt us.”

“That’s sweet but not true.”

“Yes it is” I insist, stroking his hands with my thumbs. “There’s not a doubt in my mind. There’s a reason you yelled at me to get out. Even though you were in the throes of a bad flashback you still had enough control to warn me off.”

“This time” counters Peeta. “We got lucky. You came home at the beginning of it. What’s to say I’ll have that level of control if I’m further gone?” He opens his eyes and look into mine with desperation. “What if I hurt our child? There’s no telling what I might do when I’m in that state. None whatsoever. How is a child going to be able to protect themselves from that?”

“Peeta it’s alright” I insist.

“No it’s not!”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Like what, Katniss? Because the only thing I can think of is to make sure I’m never alone with the baby. That’s going to be really freaking inconvenient!”

“I trust you, Peeta” I say softly. “I trust you never to hurt this baby. The anger you feel in your flashbacks is directed at _me_. The baby is innocent.”

“Yet can still become collateral damage.”

“No” I insist. “Your instinct will protect him or her. Your fatherly instinct. Your love for me was strong enough that you could overcome the hijacking to a degree that nobody ever believed possible. Your love for your own child will be enough to keep you from harming him or her.”

He looks at me with skepticism but I can tell he wants to believe me.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“Because I know you. And because they programmed you to hate _me_. This baby didn’t exist then and was not a part of their programming. There’s no chance President Snow ever even thought it possible that you and I would one day have a child together.”

“I know that. But this baby is a part of you as much as me. I might see you in my child and the flashbacks might tell me it’s a trick, a mutt, an evil spawn.” He begins to get worked up. “Something that needs to be destroyed.”

“You couldn’t” I assure him, my right hand releasing its grip on his left, moving up to caress his cheek. “The baby will have the opposite effect. When you’re in a flashback and you doubt what I feel and have felt for you seeing our child will help remind you that I love you for real and that anything else is not real.”

He swallows hard.

“Are you sure? Do you dare bet this baby’s life and well-being on that? Katniss even with everything we’ve lived through and all the horrors I see in my sleep I can imagine no nightmare worse than harming my own child. I swore to myself. I swore to myself when I was a kid that if I ever had children I would never hurt them the way my mother sometimes hurt me and the way my father just sat back and allowed it.”

Bracing myself against his knees I push myself up from the floor and sit down beside him, pulling him close to me. His head rests against my chest and I wince a little, my breasts feeling tender, but if it helps comfort him I can endure it. He shivers a little and exhales in a tremble.

“You’re worried that you might hurt our children and I won’t interfere?” I ask.

“Something like that” he admits in an almost tortured whisper.

“Then I swear to you that I won’t ever let that happen” I say, stroking his head. “I will protect our child for both of us when you can’t.”

After a moment of silence I feel his hand reach up and caress my belly and I exhale with relief. He seems to be calming down.

“I love you, Katniss” he says. “I’ve always loved you.”

“I know” I tell him. “I’m pretty crazy about you, too.”

“I hate myself for it, but sometimes I’m thankful of the Games, even taking into considering all the other crap that came with it.” He looks up at me with an apologetic face. “If we hadn’t been in the arena together we wouldn’t be here today.”

“I don’t necessarily believe that. You were in the back of my mind even before the reaping. When Effie drew your name my first thought was: ‘ _Not him_.’”

Peeta looks surprised and sits up straighter.

“I never knew that.”

“I suppose I never told you. It’s true, though.”

He ponders it for a moment, then shrugs.

“Wouldn’t have helped me much without the Games” he concludes. “You weren’t in love with me. It took everything we went through for that to happen.”

“I fell in love with you, not with a tribute” I argue gently, stroking his hair. “It happened _differently_ because of the Games but what made me love you is who you are.”

“What good is that if I had never gathered the courage to talk to you?” asks Peeta.

“Knowing what I now know about your feelings for me I’m not so sure you could have gone all your life without letting me know how you feel” I smile.

He laughs a little and it’s wonderful to hear it.

“I suppose, if nothing else, I could have asked you to the senior dance.”

“The senior dance? Why the senior dance?”

“You know… I’d probably see it as a now or never of sorts. After school ended I wouldn’t know when I would see you again.”

“Probably the day after graduation when I came by to trade with your father” I tease.

“This little baby’s grandfather” says Peeta, rubbing my tummy.

Hearing him say it feels weird. It’s hard to fathom that I am related, even if only by marriage, to the baker I used to trade with. I shake my head a little, trying to grasp it.

“I cannot believe I’m carrying the baker’s grandchild” I say.

“He would have loved being a grandfather” says Peeta with a touch of sadness.

“He would have been an amazing grandfather.” The mood is starting to get a bit heavy so I deflect it with a jesting comment. “So do you think us having this baby will mean we’re excused from our next public appearance?”

“Ha!” snorts Peeta. “Not on your life.”

“A girl can dream.”

 

 

Not long before my twenty-third birthday we get a call from the president’s office. Peeta is out with Haymitch when the call comes so I’m all by myself. The voice on the other end is unfamiliar to me but he introduces himself as Foy, chief of staff at the palace. I know this can’t be good. Nobody from the Capitol has been in contact with Peeta or me since the war except for when we were called to the meeting in former District 2 last year. If they’re calling now there must be something out of the ordinary and that doesn’t bode well. I quickly think back on the last few years, searching my brain for anything we might have done that would upset the Capitol but nothing comes to mind. We’ve been keeping to ourselves, not meddling in public affairs.

“President Paylor requests your presence at the palace one week from tomorrow” says the nasal voice on the other end. I note that our presence is _requested_ , not _desired_. Some things never change, apparently. “A train will arrive to transport you here two days prior to the date mentioned.”

“And what if we don’t have time, or desire, to come?” I ask dryly.

“President Paylor insists.”

“Of course she does. Might I ask why?”

“Miss Everdeen you got off easy after the assassination of President Coin” says Foy, a touch more nasal now. “When your president asks for your attendance the least you can do is comply. It won’t take more than a few days of your time.”

“It’s Mrs. Mellark” I correct him. “And it seems to me that President Paylor should be thanking me for what I did to Coin. Otherwise we would have a different president today, now wouldn’t we?”

“Miss Everdeen just arrive at the train station when asked to” says Foy tiredly. “You will be given further instruction when you arrive. Now that we have settled the matter I must ask to speak to Peeta Mellark.”

“He’s not here” I say.

“I trust that you can relay the information to him. His presence is also requested.”

“Are you sure you trust me with that?” I say sarcastically. “I might choose not to tell him anything. Then you might get into trouble with your superiors for not speaking to him personally.”

“Have a good day, Miss Everdeen.”

I hang up the phone and roll my eyes. I have no desire to go to the Capitol, if anything I dread the very thought. Whatever this is about it can’t be good since Foy wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone. I would like to just ignore it and pretend I never got the call but I know it’s no use. If they want us there they will find a way to get us there.

Later that evening Foy calls again, this time to give the message to Peeta.

 

 

“Back at the train station again” I sigh as we step out of the car that drove us to the station.

“At least this one looks more like our old trains than the last one we were on” comments Peeta, grabbing his bag from the trunk.

“You know the Capitol” I say, grabbing my own bag. “How much do you want to bet they won’t bother with such fancy means of transportation when we’re going home? Why couldn’t they just have sent a hovercraft?”

“Because you’re not _that_ highly regarded and they want to make sure you know it” says Haymitch behind me.

I spin around and look at him with surprise. He looks clean, fairly newly shaven and properly dressed. A small duffle is thrown over his shoulder. He smirks at my surprised face, looking pleased with himself for having caught me off guard.

“You’re coming, too?” I say.

“Observant as ever, sweetheart.”

“According to Foy they only want Katniss and me” says Peeta with a small frown. “Did something change? Is there a problem we should know about?”

“Relax” says Haymitch. “I was not summoned, or invited. I will be a happy surprise for President Paylor and the gang.”

“Why would you be going there if you didn’t have to?” I ask, my voice betraying the contempt I feel for the Capitol.

“If my victors are summoned to the Capitol, I go with them” says Haymitch and walks past us towards the train.

Peeta and I share a look, then we hurry after him. Not much we can do to change Haymitch’s mind once it’s been made up and I find it quite reassuring to know that he will come along even if he’s not expected.

The bell boy on the train looks surprised when he’s handed three people’s luggage but if he has any objections to Haymitch coming along he keeps them to himself. Once the luggage is off our hands we make our way to the dining compartment which is smaller than the one we had on the Victory Tour but adequate for the three of us. We sink down in the large, comfortable armchairs but Haymitch is back on his feet after about three seconds to go search the bar for alcohol.

“Really?” I groan.

“Oh keep your judgment to yourself, sweetheart” snorts Haymitch. “I’m looking for water.”

“Bring me back a soda, would you?” says Peeta.

“I’m your ex-mentor, not your busboy.”

“Right now I think you’re our moocher.”

Haymitch chuckles good-naturedly and returns with a glass of ice water for himself and a soda for Peeta.

“So how uptight are the pair of you about returning to the Capitol?” he asks.

“I had hoped I would never have to go there again” I sigh.

“Could be interesting” shrugs Peeta. “A lot must have changed in the past six years.”

“A lot has” confirms Haymitch.

“Frankly I don’t care if the whole damn place has been turned into a giant fun park or a cherry orchard” I sulk. “The Capitol will never be anything to me but a place where people died and got tortured and where slaughter was entertainment.” I give Peeta a look. “You ought to be of the same mind.”

“I’m not” he says and takes a sip from his soda. “Rebuilding and changing for the better is what the whole revolution was about.”

“You are so annoyingly idealistic” I groan.

"Gee, isn’t this going to be a fun trip?” says Haymitch dryly. “One of you spewing positive thoughts all over the place and the other sulking like a five year-old.” He gets up and walks over to the menu by the bar. “I don’t know about you guys but I intend on having a nice meal on Paylor’s expense and then I’m hitting the sack. Imbibing alcohol was for once not part of the plan but if you keep on being annoying I might change my mind.”

At the mention of food I realize I’m kind of hungry.

“They wouldn’t happen to have--”

“Lamb stew? You’re in luck, sweetheart.”

A small smile begins to creep across my face.

“Even I have to admit the Capitol isn’t _all_ bad.”

Peeta chuckles and gets up from his chair, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek before walking over to inspect the menu for himself. Haymitch calls in our orders and we move over to the table, waiting for our food to arrive.

It’s almost like old times, except we’re all older, more scarred and there’s no Effie to bring the fake cheer. Still the atmosphere turns rather good spirited once the food arrives. The three of us are essentially a family now and it’s comforting and relaxing to be all three of us together. Peeta and Haymitch make jokes about the salmon they’re eating and Haymitch teases me about how far I would go to get my hands on that lamb stew. I retort by ribbing him about how his geese will probably fare better without him for a few days. Nobody says a word about our previous train rides to the Capitol but it doesn’t feel like the elephant in the room. There’s simply no need to talk about it. We all know roughly what each other are thinking and feeling about it anyway.

After dinner Peeta and I decide to follow Haymitch’s example and head to bed. I’m so full on lamb stew and the chocolate pudding I had for dessert that I don’t think I’ll be up for anything else than resting anyway. While we’re getting up from the table I realize something.

“Uhm, Haymitch... If you weren’t invited along on this train of fun, where exactly will you be sleeping?”

“You heard your man” smirks Haymitch. “I’ll be mooching.”

“Off of what?”

“You two, of course.”

I look over at Peeta and I must be looking pretty unsettled because he laughs and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sure we’ll survive it” he tells me. “It’s the only option since this is a one bedroom compartment and as you can see there’s no couch in here. The bedroom is supposed to be about this size though so I’m sure there’s room for us.”

I suppose he’s right but I’m not very pleased. Not that I mind having Haymitch around but I had plans for how to wake Peeta up tomorrow morning and those plans are definitely not appropriate with an audience. I’ll have to postpone them and hope that they will find Haymitch a room in the Capitol so we’re not stuck bunking with him all five nights before we’re back home.

The bedroom does turn out to be fairly big with a bathroom and a small study, making me roll my eyes at how there’s a study but no living room with a TV. It seems these trains are mostly used for important business travel nowadays, meaning that the passengers need some place to work but entertainment is superfluous. The bedroom itself has a large bed and a three seat couch, a vanity and a small TV. Peeta plops down on the bed and grabs the remote while I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into my pyjamas.

I’m already in bed, sitting up with the comforter covering me up to my waist, when Haymitch walks in from another room carrying a pillow must have stolen somewhere. Peeta, just back from the bathroom, grabs the blanket on the bed and throws it to our old mentor before climbing in with me to settle in for the night, having switched the TV off before going to brush his teeth. It dawns on me that all three of us really are going to be sleeping in the same room and while that has happened before I don’t remember ever snuggling up to Peeta within full view of Haymitch.

Haymitch, who of course misses nothing, sees my blushing cheeks and snorts.

“Oh come on, sweetheart” he scoffs. “How can someone who’s been married for three years be such a prude? Did it not occur to you that I’ve seen you two sleeping in each other’s arms before?” He throws himself down on the couch fully clothed. “See, when you were in the Games there were _cameras_ there to document everything you did. I’ve seen you spoon on TV, I’ve seen you make out on TV and unfortunately for me I’ve also caught the live show on occasion.”

I’m still blushing but Peeta is shaking with laughter next to me. Of course he finds this funny. It’s always funny to him when I get embarrassed about intimacy.

“Don’t worry, Haymitch” laughs Peeta. “No live show tonight.”

We settle in for the night. Peeta wraps himself around me from behind and I relax a little. At least we get to ride in a train with a bed rather than narrow bunks where we can’t sleep side by side. I’m growing alarmingly dependent on Peeta’s body next to mine when I go to sleep. It’s probably something I should wean myself from but I doubt that I ever will. So long as I can have the luxury of his closeness I intend to enjoy it.

“Haymitch” says Peeta after a minute and rolls over on his back, lifting himself up on his elbows. “Do you have any guesses at all? As to why we’ve been summoned when you haven’t been?”

“Beats me” comes the answer in the darkness. “Have you two misbehaved?”

“Not more than usual” I yawn.

“Well, I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.”

Realizing he has to settle with that for an answer Peeta lies back down, wraps an arm around me and nuzzles his face at my neck. He falls asleep almost instantly but I lie awake for about an hour, wondering what awaits us in the Capitol. A year ago I was anxious about visiting District 2 and seeing Gale but this is even worse. Back to the place where we were groomed and polished and fed for the Hunger Games. The place where they tortured Peeta. The place where Prim and Finnick and many other good people died.

Whatever they have in store for us tomorrow I don’t think I can ever enjoy being in the Capitol.

 

 

We arrive just after ten in the morning. Peeta hurries over to the windows to get a first look at the new Capitol but I stay in my armchair focusing my eyes on the cup of hot chocolate in my hands. I’m in no hurry to see that place again but judging by Peeta’s awed gasps things have changed.

“I can’t believe they rebuilt that!” he says, not specifying what ‘that’ is. “Look, they’ve created a park right smack in the middle... Hey Haymitch, what is that building over there?”

He sounds like an excited child or a tourist. It sends a shiver down my spine. We’ve never been tourists anywhere but the first time we came to the Capitol we were just children. It seems like a lifetime ago though it’s only been eight years. On the other hand, that’s about one third of our lifetime. In a way it _has_ been forever.

The train soon pulls into the station and we stand by the doors, waiting. My hand finds Peeta’s and it’s comforting to have him there. I have no idea what awaits us when the doors open. The same crazy crowds that greeted us when we arrived as tributes and as victors? Nobody but government officials here to escort us to our quarters? I can only hope it’s the latter.

“Ready?” asks Peeta, giving me a look that’s meant to be reassuring but I can tell he’s nervous too. Oddly that reassures me more than anything else.

“If you are” I reply.

The doors open and the first thing we see is the large, purple wig on Effie’s head. Fashion hasn’t changed too drastically in the Capitol over the years, it seems. We haven’t seen Effie since the war, only spoken to her twice on the phone, and she is ecstatic to see us. She throws her arms out and cheerfully cries our names and her joy is impossible to not be affected by. Peeta and I share a look, try to conceal our chuckles, and step off the train into Effie’s waiting arms.

“Peeta! Katniss!” she cries throwing one arm around Peeta and the other around me, pulling us in to a group hug. “Oh I’m so glad you’re here! The Capitol just isn’t the same without you.”

“No, I bet” I reply, wondering if they sent Effie as the welcome wagon because they thought it would make us feel more relaxed or because we’re about to be dragged into something that require compulsive following of a schedule.

“Oh!” gasps Effie, grabbing my left hand. “What a gorgeous ring, Katniss! The pearl is a bit tiny, but in those first ghastly years after the war I suppose it could have been considered tasteless to go for anything grander.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, Effie” says Peeta. Effie seems to take it as a compliment. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

“Oh I am better than well, darling” she assures him and pats him on the cheek. Then her expression turns from cheerful to angry so fast it’s almost impressive. “Haymitch!”

“Hello there, Effie” says Haymitch, stepping down from the train.

She lets go of Peeta and me so abruptly that I almost lose my balance and she stomps up to Haymitch with an angry look on her face.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” she asks. “With them?”

I look from Haymitch to Effie to Peeta and don’t understand a thing. Our former escort and mentor begin to argue in hushed tones and whatever’s going on it makes no sense to me. Peeta grabs me by the arm and leads me a few steps away, putting some distance between us and them. He stops and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Mother and Father fighting” he says. “Just like old times.”

“Not quite like old times” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck while looking around the train station. It’s oddly abandoned, just a handful of people walking around and all of them ignoring us. It’s relaxing but I’m not sure if they ignore us because they’re not interested, they don’t recognize us or because they’re scared the Mockingjay might go crazy again if you stare at her. I honestly don’t mind either way.

Peeta rests his forehead against mine, seeking comfort, letting me know he feels as uncomfortable as I do.

“Any ideas as to what they’re arguing about?” he asks.

“No. You?”

“Haven’t got the faintest.”

The argument comes to an end when Effie breaks from the hushed tones they’ve been speaking in and yells angrily while throwing her hands up in the air.

“Well that’s hardly _my_ fault!” she cries. Then she groans with frustration, turns to Peeta and me, adjusts her wig and puts a strained smile on her face. “What am I thinking, standing around here? We should get you two to the hotel. You must be so excited to see it.”

She keeps chatting on while leading the way through the eerily empty train station and out to a red and black car parked by the curb. The driver gets out and opens the back door for us and I get in, followed by Peeta and Haymitch. Effie takes a seat next to the driver and proceeds to act as tour guide while we ride through the streets of the Capitol.

I must admit it looks quite nice. We’re in the centre of the city and it seems they put a lot of effort to rebuilding these neighbourhoods. Most houses have been built in grey, white or brown, each block having only one colour buildings which is a stark contrast to the pastel colours of the old city. The buildings are tall by District 12 standards, having six to ten stories each, but compared to the high rise buildings we saw here as tributes it looks modest. The streets are clean and filled with pedestrians dressed in a mingle of fashions from every different district. Most streets are lined with trees every thirty feet, giving them a more welcoming appearance.

“I tried to arrange for you to stay at the Tributes Inn, which is what they call the hotel they turned the living quarters for the Games into” babbles Effie. “But, I was vetoed.”

It’s almost inaudible but I hear Peeta breathe a sigh of relief. I find his hand and take it in mine. A glance at Haymitch tells me he’s rolling his eyes.

“Effie?” I say, leaning forward so she can hear me better. “Why are we here?”

“You’ll see, darling!”

She goes back to her chatter and I lean back again, wondering why she can’t just tell us now and why she’s calling both Peeta and I ‘darling’ all the time. Must be the latest fad in the Capitol or something.

Eventually we reach a building that’s taller than the others, fifteen stories, with a large sign above the entrance that says ‘Hotel Panem’. So much for originality. There are a lot of people around studying our car with interest but the driver goes by the entrance and turns a corner that leads us to a back alley and a back door. We’re whisked off inside the building which is cool and quiet and looking very clean and fresh. The walls are white with yellow lamps illuminating the thick, navy blue carpet and the occasional painting. We follow Effie down a corridor and up to a copper coloured elevator. She presses the call button and turns to us with pride on her face.

“I know it’s simple, darlings, but you must agree it has its charm.”

The elevator doors open and we step inside. Effie presses the number 9 and we begin to move. It doesn’t go as quickly as the one at our tribute quarters but in less than a minute we have reached out floor and step off into a hallway almost identical to the one downstairs only the carpets are yellow. Effie leads the way down another hallway and we arrive at room number 922.

“Peeta, Katniss, this will be your room” announces Effie, handing me a key card.

“Do we actually get to spend time in it?” I ask, wondering how tight a schedule she’s got us on.

“You will have time to change” answers Effie. “I will be back for you in about thirty minutes to take you to the conference room.”

“And what happens in the conference room?” asks Peeta warily.

“Don’t be impatient” scolds Effie cheerfully. “You’ll find out in thirty minutes, won’t you?” She turns to Haymitch with a frown. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

Haymitch gives us a little wave and then he’s off, trying to keep up with Effie’s stride. They’ve barely gone around the corner before we hear their voices arguing again. Peeta rolls his eyes and I keep in a sigh, sticking the key card in the slot and opening the door once I hear the click.

I open the door and we walk inside, finding a small bedroom with a table and two chairs by the window that overlooks the city. There’s a door that presumably leads to the bathroom, a dresser with a large mirror and a bed that looks comfortable enough. The walls are painted dark green which doesn’t make the room seem any bigger. Our luggage has somehow made it here before us, my guess is Effie took us on a scenic route rather than the quickest one while sending our luggage on a faster track, and it sits on the bed waiting for us to unpack and change. Peeta walks up to the window and looks out, taking in the view. Then he turns to me and shrugs his shoulders.

“I hadn’t thought they’d stick us in a room smaller than our bedroom back home but I’ve got to say it feels oddly pleasant.”

“This whole trip has been strangely low-key thus far” I say. “Maybe if we’re lucky all we’re in for is a meeting and a small-scale dinner and then we can go home again.”

“I doubt it” says Peeta, walking towards the bathroom. “They’re keeping us here for three nights, remember?”

He walks into the bathroom and I go over to our bags to unpack clothes for us to wear to this meeting. I pick out an outfit for myself and one for Peeta and lay them out on the bed. Then I join Peeta in the shower, letting him wash my hair for me while I lather myself up with the strawberry scented body wash. The shower is not the fancy kind with a dozen different buttons but rather the standard kind they’ve begun to install into people’s homes back home and the body wash comes out of a bottle, not from the shower head.

When we’re done showering we hurriedly get dressed and I braid my wet hair to keep it out of the way. I’ve just finished braiding when Effie knocks on the door and asks us to hurry along. When we open the door it surprises me a little that Effie is standing there alone. Somehow I expected Haymitch to tag along whether she wants him to or not but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Now will you tell us what this meeting is about?” asks Peeta as we walk down the hall.

“Patience” replies Effie.

Luckily she doesn’t see the face Peeta makes behind her back. She leads us down another hallway and stops in front of a door with a plate that says ‘Johanna’.

“Why does the door say ‘Johanna’?” I ask with scepticism. As far as I know Johanna Mason is in former District 7 with no intention of relocating to the Capitol.

“All the conference rooms have names after victors” explains Effie.

“How disturbing” mutters Peeta and shifts his weight from his right foot to the prosthetic.

If she hears him she doesn’t let it on. Instead she opens the door and ushers us inside the small conference room where President Paylor and Plutarch Heavensbee are enjoying a lunch of roast beef and potato salad. They look up at us and smile while Effie closes the door, leaving the four of us alone.

“There they are!” announces Plutarch, as if we were live on stage and not just four people in a conference room. “The Mockingjay and everybody’s favourite victor!”

I hear Peeta snort beside me but Plutarch takes no notice, getting up from his chair to come over and greet us. We shake his hand and his enthusiasm begins to make me nervous. If he is here it can only mean that they want us to do something on camera.

President Paylor rises from her seat and walks up to us. She is much more cool and calm than Plutarch but I find her presence more relaxing than his. I have respect for this woman. She has never tried to exploit me and she has done a fine job bringing Panem back on its feet, despite the negativity displayed by some at the meeting in Former Two. She shakes hands with Peeta and me and her hand is as cool as her demeanour.

“Peeta” she says, shaking hands with my husband. Then her eyes turn to me. “Katniss.” A small frown appears on her brow. “Do you prefer Everdeen or Mellark?”

“It’s Mellark” I answer.

“Just like the two of you to get hitched without inviting all of Panem” grins Plutarch and even though I know he’s joking I’m not feeling very comforted.

“Have a seat” invites Paylor. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“No” answers Peeta as we walk around the table to sit opposite the other two. “All we’ve had time to do is shower and change.”

“Help yourselves” says Plutarch and pushes the large platter of food closer to our end of the table. “Just press the button.”

We both look down and spot a small button next to each chair. We press them and a hatch opens in front of each of us, a plate, cutlery and a glass sliding up. While this place is low key compared to what we’ve seen in the Capitol in the past it’s clear that not everything is low-tech.

“You must be wondering why you have been called here” says Paylor, clasping her hands together on the table and leaning forward.

“Quite curious, yes” nods Peeta, helping himself to the roast beef.

“You’ve been left in seclusion in Former 12” begins Paylor. “Even got to get married without the press knocking on your door.” I hold my breath waiting to hear what they’ll demand for us in return for that seclusion. “The people of Panem are still highly interested in the two of you.”

“Especially since the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve are not so star-crossed anymore” adds Plutarch.

“A whole industry could be formed around your lives” says Paylor and I notice from the corner of my eye that Peeta sets his fork down, apparently having lost his appetite. “Books, movies, even a documentary series has been requested from the public.”

“You’d think they’d be busy rebuilding their lives and their homes” mutters Peeta.

“You’d think” agrees Paylor. “But the truth is people have been starved for entertainment. It sickens me to say but in its own way the Hunger Games left a void when it ended. Nobody wants it back on air, at least nobody with their brain screwed in right, but they want something to watch and care about and get invested in.”

“Like us?” I say.

“You are the Mockingjay and the most popular victor” says Plutarch in an almost solemn tone, leaning back in his chair.

“Did they take a vote on that or something?” asks Peeta.

“There’s been no need” answers Plutarch. “People love you. Of course, most of them never saw you when you were hijacked...”

“The point is you are both in high demand” says Paylor.

“We get letters and phone calls every week from people asking when we’re going to do a follow-up of some sort on you two” adds Plutarch. “Simply put – people feel like they have a right to know what’s going on in your lives. They invested so much in you both, during the Games and during the revolution.”

“So what does all that mean?” asks Peeta warily.

“It means people want to see the Mellarks on their screens” answers Paylor. “Read about them in their books.”

“I know that neither one of you wants this” says Plutarch. “President Paylor and I have discussed the matter at length.”

“Why is it anybody’s discussion to have but Peeta’s and mine?” I ask. “We’re supposed to be free to make our own choices.”

“Like it or not entertainment is more than a way to, well, entertain” answers Paylor with a weary sigh. “It’s politics.”

“Politics?” echoes Peeta. “Next year an election is to be held, am I right?”

“Stop” says Plutarch, holding up both his hands. “I know where you’re going with that but you’re barking up the wrong tree. President Paylor is not going to be running next year.”

“So then what?”

“To put it simply we feel that you both have earned your right to privacy” says Paylor. “After everything you have done for Panem it feels absurd to ask anything more from you, especially when all you seem to want is to live your lives in peace.”

“Therefore we want to propose a compromise” says Plutarch. “Or, to be precise, the _illusion_ of compromise.”

Peeta and I share a look and I wonder if he understands what they’re saying any more than I do. Our hands, resting on the table, find each other and our eyes go back to the president and her secretary of communications.

Plutarch explains it all to us. We can never have a life of complete solitude from the media because the demand is too great for that. Whoever takes over after Paylor is bound to be eager to exploit us in order to gain popularity from the masses and even if we manage to escape that there is never any guarantees that the press won’t come knocking on our door. In fact it’s a wonder they’ve left us alone for six whole years.

We slowly continue to eat the lunch set out for us while we listen and by the time Plutarch is done there’s nothing left on the platter in front of us. They want to cut a deal and to sign official, legal documents over it. According to Plutarch anything that promises us full seclusion from the media will be thrown out the window as soon as the next president takes office so therefore it must seem as if we are giving something back.

“What would that be?” asks Peeta.

“Regularly scheduled public appearances” answers Paylor.

“How regular?” I ask.

“What has it been now?” asks Plutarch. “Six years? Sounds good to us if it works for you.”

“I don’t understand” says Peeta. “How is that going to placate whoever’s president next? What’s to stop him or her from revoking whatever deal we make here today?”

“Exclusiveness” answers Plutarch with a grin. “Make your public appearances something _special_. The rarer the object the greater its value, so to speak.”

“Clever” nods Peeta. “My only question then is exactly how special is special? What do we have to do for those exclusive appearances? Renew our vows and have another toasting? Give Panem a tour of our house? Invite them to our bedroom?”

“Let’s start with a public appearance tomorrow” suggests Paylor. “Here, in the Capitol. Thirty minutes of your time. I promise Mr. Mellark you can keep your clothes on the entire time” she adds dryly.

Peeta looks over at me.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Once every six years” I confirm with my eyes fixated on Plutarch. “Nothing too intimate. Whether it be physical or emotional.”

“Or environmental” adds Peeta.

“Deal” says Paylor. “I will have the papers drawn up and you can sign them tomorrow morning before you make your public appearance.”

“Alright” I nod.

“Great!” exclaims Plutarch and gets up from his chair. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me I have a lot of work to do.”

“So have I” says Paylor, rising as well. “Katniss, Peeta, I will see you tomorrow morning. Take tonight off, order up food to your room and get a good night’s sleep. You will need to look presentable tomorrow.”

 

 

I sit on the side of the bed, staring aimlessly at the wall in front of me, going over everything that just happened. Peeta lies stretched out on the bed, his hands resting behind his head. He’s probably deep in thought as well. Neither one of us has said a word since we got back to our room fifteen minutes ago and the silence is not entirely comfortable.

“So what do you really think?” asks Peeta, finally breaking the silence.

“Either we got off easy or whatever they have planned for tomorrow is going to be hell” I say.

“Or it’s never going to hold up. If something sounds too good to be true it generally is.” Another minute of silence passes. “Can you believe that crap Plutarch was repeating? Like I’m even a popular victor, let alone people’s favourite. The only reason he said that was to give the illusion that this is about anything else than just you.”

I turn my head and smile at him.

“You’re _my_ favourite victor” I tell him.

He smiles back at me and I feel that familiar twinge in my heart. We’ve been together almost six years now, married for three, and it still takes no more than a smile on his face to fill me with happiness. I turn over and get up on the bed, crawling over to him on all fours to give him a kiss.

“We have until tomorrow to change our minds” Peeta points out.

I lie down next to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know, Peeta” I say. “I think this might be our best option. Plutarch may be blind in some ways but he’s never been malicious towards us. He could have come knocking on our door a lot sooner if all he wanted to do was exploit us.”

“I’d never think that of him” says Peeta. “Strange, considering he was the head gamemaker for our Quell. I just think that these people don’t always seem to recognise that their interviews and propos and whatnots feel a whole lot different when you’re the one the camera is on.”

We discuss it for a while but don’t come to any other conclusion than to keep the agreement we made today. After a while we grow hungry and order up some dinner. We share a pot of beef stew with fresh potatoes and garlic bread, ignoring the city outside the window where all the lights are starting to come on as dusk falls.

“I wish we knew where we could find Haymitch” says Peeta, breaking off a piece of bread.

“Why?” I ask, blowing on a piece of stew to cool it down before I put it in my mouth.

“There’s enough food for three.”

“Is that the reason?”

“I don’t know” he shrugs. “I’d feel better with him here. He’d know what we should do about tomorrow.”

“ _Darling_ ,” I say, mocking Effie’s tone from earlier in the day and putting my hand over his, “I think it’s time we started to figure these things out for ourselves. We don’t want to be those kind of people who cling to their mentors way into their twenties.”

This earns me a chuckle and he nods a little.

“Point taken. Still, I feel more comfortable in the Capitol when he’s around and I hate to think that he came all this way for us and he’s spending the evening alone.”

“Maybe Effie’s keeping him company” I suggest, spearing a potato with my fork and smirking as I put it in my mouth.

“Yeah, I bet” scoffs Peeta. “I’m sure she’s made special plans.”

“Candlelit dinner for two?” I suggest.

I expect him to scoff at that too but instead he follows my lead and grins mischievously.

“Two old friends catching up...” he says, picking up a cherry tomato and putting it in his mouth with a suggestively raised eyebrow.

“Rekindling that old... spark” I say.

“It can only lead to one thing. Hate sex. They say it’s hot.”

“Gross!” I exclaim, making a disgusted face. “Ew, Peeta!”

“I imagine lots of biting and hissing and thrashing.”

“There goes my appetite” I complain. “God, it’s like imagining my parents having sex.”

“Maybe it’s not even hate sex anymore” continues Peeta suggestively, amused by my reaction. “Sure, it was back when we were frightened young tributes...”

“Peeta!”

“... but things have changed. They do say it’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“I don’t think I can imagine two people less likely to fall in love” I say. “They would claw each other’s eyes out within a week if they tried dating.”

“Probably true” laughs Peeta. “Which would bring us back to the hot hate sex.”

“Enough!” I groan.

Eventually we finish our meal and send the dirty dishes back down to the kitchen. We go to bed early, heeding Plutarch’s advice. Peeta finds me under the covers, placing wet kisses down my jaw and neck, his hand moving under my nightgown to caress my breasts. I feel myself responding but I can’t quite relax.

“I can’t stop wondering if there are cameras in here” I confess.

“Now you’re just being paranoid.”

It ends with a compromise of sorts. We make love but we do it with my nightgown still on and the covers up to Peeta’s waist. He takes his time, moving so slow that I’m ready to start doing some hissing and biting of my own before he picks up his speed. When it’s over we rest in each other’s arms, for a moment forgetful of the day ahead of us.

It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever felt in a bed in the Capitol.

 

 

It’s barely past seven in the morning when Effie knocks on our door, urging us to get up. Peeta and I groan and in perfect sync roll over on our stomachs with Peeta pulling a pillow over our heads to drown her out. On a normal day Peeta will be out of bed no later than 5:30 to prepare the breakfast bread for his customers and once he’s up I tend to be out of bed as well. This, however, is not a normal day and whenever we get the chance to sleep in we usually take it.

Both of us are about to drift back to sleep when the pillow is yanked away and we both shoot up on our elbows, startled by somebody else’s presence in our room.

“What are you two doing napping at this our?” scolds Effie. “I told you that you had an early morning. You have agreements to sign and public appearances to be made ready for. Up, up, up!”

I roll over on my back again and Peeta flops back down with a groan, burying his face in his pillow. Effie frowns and grabs a hold of the comforter but Peeta stops her with a raised hand.

“If you do that be prepared to see more of me than you ever have before” he mumbles into the pillow.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, blinking up at Effie, styled and coiffed and looking like she’s been up for hours.

“I have the other key to your room, of course” she says, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Now get up!”

I very reluctantly sit up and begin to rub the sleep out of my eyes. Effie uses the pillow she snatched to smack Peeta’s head with but he ignores her.

“You’re going to have to either leave the room, hand Peeta his underwear or close your eyes” I yawn. “We’d prefer Option A.”

She looks down on the floor, notices she’s standing on the underwear Peeta discarded last night and makes a disgusted face. I watch with some fascination as she removes one of her stilettos and uses the heel to fish up the fabric and flick it on the bed. I hand it to Peeta who wiggles into them under the covers, still without opening his eyes.

“So...” I say. “Five more minutes?”

“This is not funny” says Effie. “You both have to be dressed and fed and ready to sign those papers in forty-five minutes.”

At this Peeta lets out a loud groan.

“Forty-five minutes? All we need is twenty!”

“Maybe in your rugged old home district but here you need to be _presentable_ ” says Effie, voice brimming with disapproval. “Have you forgotten _everything_ I’ve taught you?”

“I don’t know” yawns Peeta and rolls over on his back.

With a huff he sits up next to me and I manage to smile, finding him adorable with his sleepy eyes and his messy bed hair. I look over at Effie and she seems uncomfortable, her eyes carefully avoiding the scarred patches of skin on Peeta’s exposed chest and stomach. I realize she hasn’t really seen us since we were burned. Her reaction makes me nervous. We’re so used to how our bodies look and everyone around us at home is used to it as well so I have begun to forget that the two of us look _different_ than the rest. Different than we did when we were last on camera.

Peeta places a kiss on my shoulder, wraps his arm around me and squints at Effie.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Nothing” says Effie. “Unless you’re out of bed within the next two minutes.” She looks like she truly pities herself when she continues. “While you eat I will have to go and make... other arrangements for your wardrobe.”

“What’s wrong with our wardrobe?” I ask.

“Darling I can’t very well put you in something strapless when you’ve got those scars, now can I? It just wouldn’t be aesthetically pleasing.”

I hear Peeta muttering something that definitely isn’t a compliment to Effie but I choose to ignore her comments. I’d prefer being covered up when we make our public appearance. The idea of just one other person out there feeling that they had to avert their eyes the way Effie does makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. Right now I’m feeling exposed enough even though my legs are covered by the comforter and my nightie covers most of the scars on my belly.

With another yawn I climb out of bed. Effie gives me an encouraging smile from the seat she has taken by the table. I force myself to smile back at her and walk around the bed to step into the shower. Effie seems to have read my mind and stops me when my hand reaches the doorknob.

“Oh, just so you know, no need to waste time showering. The prep teams will see to it that you are both made presentable.”

“No, Effie!” I complain. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to be _prepped_.”

“Of course you are” frowns Effie, finding the very idea that we wouldn’t be completely preposterous. “Trust me, darling, you need it.”

I’m about ready to show her I can still be quite harmful when Peeta interrupts the conversation.

“Katniss where’s my leg?”

I look around the room, trying to remember where he put it last night if it’s not by the side of the bed. The search distracts me enough that my annoyance with Effie dims a bit. Dropping to my knees I spot the prosthetic leg lying under the bed on Peeta’s side and I reach out to grab it. I can’t ever seem to get completely used to the feeling of the cold metal against my skin. Everything else about Peeta is warm and the artificial leg just doesn’t seem to match him. It does, in fact, not match him anymore and hasn’t for at least two years now. It chafes and pains him whenever he’s standing or walking for too long though he’s usually too proud to admit it.

“Here” I say, handing it to him and getting up on my feet.

He hides a yawn behind his hand and throws the comforter to the side, his fingers making quick work of strapping the prosthetic in its place. I go to the bathroom to wash up and hear him talking to Effie while someone, presumably she, rummages through our bags. Even if they’re going to prep us and provide us with out outfits for the day this apparently won’t take place until after we’ve signed the agreement and Effie probably doesn’t trust us to pick out appropriate clothes to wear.

Eventually we’re dressed and herded out of the room with seven minutes to spare, making Effie very pleased with us. She takes us back to the conference room where a light breakfast of eggs and juice has been set out for us. We eat our breakfast and listen to Effie telling us all about her job here in the Capitol and how it’s less glamorous than working with the Hunger Games but ultimately better for the soul.

We’ve barely finished eating before President Paylor and Plutarch walk in together with a whole group of government officials who are there to witness the signing of the agreement. Before we sign it we get ten minutes to read it and while it seems like the best deal we could make we still take a moment to look at one another and silently debate the matter. Peeta is the first to break eye contact and ask for a pen.

After the agreement has been signed we shake hands with Paylor and Plutarch and then Effie, who is very excited at this point, ushers us out the door so we can go downstairs and meet our prep teams. I have to brace myself before stepping off the elevator, not longing to relive the whole prepping process. To my disappointment it’s not even my old prep team who takes care of me. Instead I get two complete strangers while two others take care of Peeta. His old prep team got executed during the revolution but I wonder what Octavia, Flavius and Venia are doing.

It’s a little like being back in the circus of the Games. We’re showered, scrubbed, waxed, plucked and polished. Effie walks in about halfway through, bringing with her our garment bags. There are no stylists present, which is just as well. I wouldn’t want anybody else but Cinna and I know Peeta feels the same way about Portia. If somebody has to pick out our outfits for us it’s just as well they do it elsewhere and we don’t get to meet them.

Eventually we are both dressed and styled and ready to go. Thankfully the dress picked out for me does not bring to mind a mockingjay, which I had feared it would. All I want is to move on from that persona and not remind people of it again. The dress is forest green and in a light fabric, which I’m thankful for since it covers me to my upper arms and it’s a hot July day out there. Peeta has been dressed up in a grey suit and a white shirt with a tie that matches my dress in colour. It feels strange to see us both decked up this way again but as far as Capitol dressing goes we seem to have gotten off easy. We still look like us and not like a Capitol product.

We’re ushered into a car with tinted windows through the back alley and are taken through the very crowded streets at a high speed. Eventually we reach the palace, which looks different now thanks to the rebuilding they had to do after the war. We don’t get much of a chance to look at it as the car quickly proceeds into an underground garage where we are let out and taken up an elevator to the tenth floor. As we step out we are greeted by Plutarch who grins at us, asking if we are excited.

“President Paylor is out on the balcony addressing the crowds” he tells us. “In a few moments she will introduce you and you will walk out there for a few minutes, letting people see you. Remember to smile and wave and pretend like you don’t detest it.”

“I’m sure we can manage” says Peeta with a little laugh. “We’ve played to the crowds before.”

“That last part was addressed to your wife, not to you” says Plutarch. “After your appearance on the balcony you will come back inside to me.”

“That’s it?” I ask with incredulity.

“That’s to take the edge off” explains Plutarch. “People are pretty excited to get to see you. Giving them the chance to look at you out on the balcony for a moment hopefully means that the sight of you won’t steal the thunder of the main event.”

“What is the main event?” asks Peeta but there is no time for Plutarch to answer him as Effie comes hurrying up to us and shoos us into another room.

“Quickly, darlings. You’ve got about ten seconds.”

Now that we’re in the room that leads to the balcony we can hear some of what goes on outside. We hear the president’s muffled voice and we hear faint sounds of a large crowd reacting to the things she says. I’m suddenly so nervous that my stomach starts to feel upset and I look over at Peeta and read the same nervousness in his face. He reaches for my hand and I gladly take it, clinging to it the same way I once did in the tributes’ chariot. He takes a deep breath and exhales quickly. Then we hear a roar from the crowds outside and the balcony doors open, blinding us with the bright sunlight. Effie’s hand on my back urges me on and hand in hand with Peeta I step out on the balcony.

The sight below me almost makes me come to a stop but we’re urged to the railing so that people can see us better. Down in the large courtyard below a huge crowd has gathered, filling up every empty space except for a large square that is completely empty. The old palace walls have been partially removed and the courtyard is now open for everyone, making it more like a town square than anything else. The people down below don’t look like the Capitol audience we saw as tributes. There’s a wide mix of fashions, indicating people from a variety of districts, and even the most colourful of the native Capitol citizens are much dimmed down compared to before the war. Each and every one down there on the ground seems ecstatic to see us. It’s downright surreal to be the focus of this much adulation, especially when it feels like we’ve done nothing to deserve it.

Peeta, still much more of a natural in wooing the crowds than I am, raises our joined hands into the air, to which the crowd responds with even louder cheers. It reminds me a little of our wedding day but on a much crazier and less comfortable scale.

I don’t know for how long we stand there. A few minutes, probably, but it feels like an eternity. We wave, we smile and I can tell that Peeta begins to feed off the energy. I remember doing the same thing during our first chariot ride but this time I’m too stunned for anything like that. Then we’re taken back inside and for a blissful moment everything is calm and quiet and peaceful. Effie then takes us to the elevators and Plutarch joins us to give further instructions on what we have to expect when we get downstairs.

“You will be stepping out into the empty part of the courtyard” he tells us. “You will see a pole with a black switch on it. Your job is to simply flick the switch.”

“What happens when we do?” asks Peeta.

“Then you smile and wave and pose for some photographs.”

“With the switch?” I can hear from Peeta’s voice that he’s annoyed with how little information we’re given.

Instead of answering us Plutarch just smiles. The elevator reaches the bottom floor and we step out, ready to go outside and meet the crowds for real. Effie stops us just before we reach the doors.

“Switch places, darlings.”

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“That lovely ring on your finger, dear” smiles Effie and grabs Peeta by the shoulders to usher him over to my right side. “We want people to be able to see it, now don’t we?”

“I don’t think anybody in the crowds will be able to see it from that distance” argues Peeta, taking my right hand in his left.

“Not the details” agrees Effie. “But they will see that she’s _wearing_ a ring. That’s all that matters to them.”

Peeta looks at me, seemingly a bit nervous again.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah” I say. Ready as I’ll ever be.

We are once again blinded by the sunlight as the doors open, not to mention nearly deafened from the sounds of the crowd. We step outside together, finding strength in each other and holding on tightly to each other’s hand. The first thing I notice when my eyes get used to the sunlight is that the square in front of us is not entirely empty. Haymitch is there, smiling at us and applauding together with the crowds. Next to him is Enobaria, who isn’t smiling but at least isn’t scowling. They’re standing slightly to our left and opposite them, slightly to our right, stands Beetee and Johanna. I’m more than a little bit surprised to see them all and I can’t wrap my head around why flicking a switch is such a big deal that our old friends have been brought here but I’m grateful for their presence.

“See the pole?” asks Peeta.

“Yeah. Shall we?”

We walk up to the pole together, finding the switch at the top. Ignoring the crowds around us we share a look and Peeta asks if I want to do the honours or if he should do it.

“Together” I answer, lifting our joined hands to the switch.

We flick it and suddenly the square isn’t so empty anymore. By flicking the switched we switched off some form of force field and what we’ve just done is to unveil a statue. Not just any statue but the one Plutarch asked Peeta to design last year. We stand there gaping, taking in the several meters tall bronze statue of me and the black marble pillar it rests on. I don’t even hear the reaction from the audience. All I’m aware of is the sight before me.

Peeta asked me if I wanted to see the suggestions he had sketched and if I wanted to approve of his design before he sent it to Plutarch but I declined the offer. I never thought I’d see the statue anyway and it didn’t matter much to me what it would look like. I disliked the very notion of it and would much rather it was never made but as far as Peeta’s involvement went I had nothing but complete trust that he would create something I could make peace with. And he has.

I know what they wanted from him was a statue of me as the Mockingjay, dressed in Cinna’s costume and preferably aiming my bow and arrow at some unseen enemy and so that was what I would have expected. Instead Peeta’s statue depicts the moment from our first Hunger Games where I look up at the cameras and hold my hand out in a salute to Rue after her death. It is exactly the kind of depiction of me I would have wanted. Something that’s genuinely me and not the creation of a prep team or Plutarch Heavensbee or the camera team that followed me around during the war. It’s how Peeta sees me. It’s something that pays homage to the role that I played in the overthrow of President Snow’s regime but it’s something that is all me.

My eyes go to Peeta and he’s looking at me very nervously. When our eyes meet he voices his concerns.

“Do you like it?”

The way he says it makes me love him even more. He says it like he’s begging me not to hate it and I realize what an emotional moment this must be for him. Neither one of us knew we were here for the unveiling of a statue and while the person depicted on the marble pillar is me it is Peeta’s work that people will be judging, still he doesn’t seem to care what anybody thinks of it but me.

Knowing no better way to answer his question I decide to break our unspoken rule about public displays of affection and give Plutarch something really exclusive for the occasion. I wrap my arms around my husband’s neck and give him a deep, loving kiss, much to the appreciation of the crowds around us. One of his hands goes around my waist and the other grips the back of my head as he kisses me back. When our lips part I give him my warmest smile and my right hand leaves its spot around his neck and caresses his cheek.

“Thank you” I tell him.

 

 

It’s late in the evening when we are finally off duty and allowed to do whatever we want. After the unveiling followed a drawn-out session of photographs being taken and a short interview. Then we had lunch with the four other victors who had come to partake in the ceremonies. Plutarch had invited all former victors but since it was meant to be a surprise for Peeta and me we weren’t supposed to know Haymitch was coming. Since somebody managed to forget to arrange for him to travel to the Capitol he decided to blow the surprise of his presence by tagging along with us. The only living former victor who isn’t present is Annie Odair who isn’t mentally stable enough for an event like this. Peeta is very disappointed that she’s not there, having a different connection to her than I do because of the time they spent as prisoners of Snow. He had also hoped to see Crest, Annie’s and Finnick’s son. I spend most of the lunch talking to Haymitch and Beetee while Peeta and Johanna discuss Annie and seem to be making plans to go and visit her together. Enobaria says little to nothing and seems happy not interacting much with the rest of us.

After lunch Effie treats all of us to a tour of the Palace and it’s both long and dull and uncomfortable. I don’t know why people in the Capitol think we’re interested in getting to know this place better after everything we’ve been through here but it’s obvious that Effie put a lot of thought and effort into her tour so I try to smile and be nice and fake an interest. After the tour we are taken to President Paylor’s ceremonial dining hall where us victors, all members of the government and a few other selected individuals enjoy a three course dinner. It is nice and much more low-key than the extravagant party we attended here during the Victory Tour but after a while I grow tired of having to smile and be pleasant to strangers who think they know me. A few faces are familiar of course but the vast majority are people I can’t remember ever meeting before. I don’t even have Peeta to turn to because he’s at a different table. We’re not reunited until dessert has been taken out and dancing commences. Even then I only get one dance with him before people around us start to come up and ask Peeta or me for a dance.

I am more than a little relieved when Effie takes us from the party and back to the hotel. I feel myself getting frustrated when we go up past our floor and Peeta asks if there’s anything else we’re supposed to do before we can go to bed. It turns out there isn’t – they just moved us to the penthouse now that we’ve done our part.

The room, or rather rooms, are as decadent as you would expect from the Capitol. Some things seem to stay the same no matter what happens. The bedroom, which is where we head right away, is about five times as big as our bedroom at home with an absurdly large bed that would probably fit the rest of the victors as well. Everything is white or in very pale tones but colourful paintings and a large collection of flowers placed all around the room keep it from giving a sterile impression. Unfortunately many flowers are roses and I still have a very hard time stomaching that particular flower.

Once we’re finally alone I turn my back to Peeta and ask him to unzip my dress. All I want is to change into my own clothes, wash all the makeup off and be myself again. Peeta obliges and then begins to gather all the roses to put them in another room while I wash up in the large bathroom.

He comes back to the bedroom at the same time as I do. With a sigh he sits down on the edge of the enormous bed and removes his suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt with his left hand.

“God what a day...” he says.

I walk up to him, now wearing only my underwear, and straddle him. He lets himself fall down on the bed and my hands play on his chest, now free of the blonde curls that are normally there. The moment isn’t sexual. Neither one of us is in the mood for that. It’s simply comfort and intimacy between two people who know each other so well and who have been through so much together that sometimes the best way, the only way, we can think of to recharge our batteries is to touch. My hands glide up to his shoulders and I lean forward, resting my upper body on top of his. His arms wrap around my back and he places a kiss on the top of my head.

“What do you think tomorrow will be about?” asks Peeta. “I don’t know if I have energy for another day like this, no matter how great it is to see Johanna and Beetee and Effie... We did our part, didn’t we? Yet we’re not going home until the day after tomorrow.”

I lift my head and smile.

“I happen to know the answer to that. I asked Haymitch.”

“And?”

“The boy needs a new prosthetic” I quote, using my best Haymitch impression.

Peeta’s eyebrows shoot up. If he was exhausted a moment ago he is fully alert now.

“What?”

“Yeah” I smile. “Looks like they’ll be fitting you for a new prosthetic tomorrow.”

The smile that spreads across his face makes me want to laugh with happiness. I settle for returning the smile and returning his kiss.

“I think I could get on board with this whole agreement” says Peeta. “Coming here every six years, spending one day out in public, possibly getting my prosthetics fixed if needed.” He rests his head back down and I rest mine against his chest.

“Yeah we got lucky on this one” I agree. Silence falls between us and the sleepiness that usually follows when I’ve had more than one glass of wine is amplified by Peeta’s hand caressing my head. I sigh contently and grab a fistful of his shirt with one hand, holding on to him even though I know he’s not going anywhere.

“The statue really does look amazing” I tell him, realizing I never said it to him out loud. “Thank you.”

 

 

Six years later we return to the Capitol for our next public appearance. The president at this time is a fifty-something man named Deaver and all I really know about him is that he was born in District Nine, was elected five years ago and has not completely ruined Panem since. I don’t care much about politics or who is president, so long as Panem remains free and I can live my life in peace.

This time there is no Effie to greet us but Plutarch is still secretary of communications and still the person who made all the plans for Peeta’s and my _exclusive_ public appearance. He’s just as secretive as to what it’s about as he was last time but Haymitch doesn’t see any reason to make a big surprise out of the whole thing.

“They’re having a grand opening for the new Central Capitol Park” he explains, leaning back in one of the comfortable armchairs in our hotel suite. “After the last park burned three years ago they decided to a whole reboot thing. Took them until about six months ago and Plutarch thought it would be good to save the re-opening for when the country’s most _exclusive_ celebrities show up.”

“So who else is here for the event?” asks Peeta. “Johanna? Beetee? Annie?”

“You should know better than to expect Annie Odair” replies Haymitch. “The other victors are all here.” He turns and looks at me. “So is Gale.”

“Oh” is all I manage for a reply.

“Plutarch asked me if I thought you two would be up for an interview after the big shindig at the park.”

“Me and Gale?” I ask stupidly.

“Yes” answers Haymitch in a mocking tone. “All of Panem is _dying_ to hear from you and some guy they might have seen on TV once or twice.”

“What would we be interviewed about?” asks Peeta. “We did a brief interview last time. It sounds like they want something bigger this time?”

“According to Plutarch there was something of an outrage last time because the poor idiot who interviewed you failed to ask a single personal question. He got fired.”

“Personal questions?” I frown. “What exactly do they want to know?”

Haymitch shrugs.

“Panem’s favourite lovebirds got married and nobody knows a thing about how and when. I should imagine that’s the sort of thing they’re curious about. And, if you’re hiding a whole litter of kids back at home.”

“Okay, we’ll do an interview” says Peeta, ignoring the glare I give him for making that decision without finding out what I think. “But we get to see the questions beforehand and approve them. Tell Plutarch that and also tell him that next time he should ask us directly.”

“Trust me, nothing would bring me more joy than not having to be everybody’s go-to person when it comes to the pair of you” says Haymitch. “Except maybe a big tumbler of white liquor. That would be joyful.”

“It would be nice if you could be sober tomorrow for the big park thing” I say.

"I have all night to sober up, sweetheart.”

He gets up and leaves to go find his own suite and appraise the bar. Peeta and I go to the bathroom and draw a bubble bath. Peeta gets in first and I sink down between his legs, leaning back towards his chest. He lazily draws figures on my arm with his finger while my left hand plays with the stump on his leg. The prosthetic he got six years ago is a better fit than the one he had before that but I’m hoping they’ll give him a new one this time, too. Six years is a long time to put your weight on one prosthetic and it’s beginning to get worn out.

“You know... three years from now we will be twice the age we were when we first visited this city” he says after a while.

“Whatever you do don’t point that out to anyone tomorrow” I say. “They’ll insist on bringing us back for the special occasion.”

“It’s weird” he says, as if he didn’t hear me. “That time I didn’t think I was going to make it to seventeen. Now I’m almost thirty. Funny how things turn out.”

“Tell me about it. I never thought I would get married, yet here I am in the bathtub with my husband and tomorrow we will probably be interviewed about the details of our wedding.”

“People are going to be so disappointed” chuckles Peeta. “No grandeur, no hundreds of guests, not even a traditional wedding dress for the bride.”

“It was everything we wanted and they didn’t” I smirk. I grab his hands and wrap his arms around me. “What do you think would have happened if the Quell had been something else and the revolution never took place? Do you think the Capitol wedding would have happened?”

“I don’t see how there would have been a way out of it” answers Peeta thoughtfully. “We would have had one of those big, awkward Capitol events where people say their vows in front of a whole crowd of people. President Snow would have probably walked you down the aisle himself.”

“No Haymitch would have walked me down the aisle” I argue. “President Snow would have _officiated_.”

“Not a chance. That honour would have gone to Caesar Flickerman. Do you really think Snow would have been able to pass up on an opportunity to show you that he considered you his property to be handed over to whoever he saw fit?”

“Two birds trapped in a golden cage.”

Peeta’s thumbs stroke the back of my hands. He sounds sad when he opens his mouth again.

“I would have loved you, every moment of every day. And I would have mourned, every moment of every day. You would have had a difficult role to play but mine would have been worse. You would only have to pretend to love me when the cameras were on you but I would have to live every second knowing that you didn’t reciprocate my love.”

“No, it could have been good” I argue. “Not as good as now but still good under the circumstances. If we had gotten married I would have loved you back, eventually. It was always going to end with me in love with you.”

“Even if that’s true you wouldn’t love me like you do now. You would have never surrendered to the Capitol like that. We would have gone a lifetime with me loving you and you never admitting to anyone, least of all yourself, that you loved me back.”

“Or I would have embraced my feelings for you and loved you with all my might” I say. “Because you are the only good I ever got from the Capitol. President Snow didn’t want us to be happy but I think we could have made each other happy.” I pause for a moment before continuing. “We would have had children.”

“Children we would then have to mentor in the 90th Hunger Games or so” says Peeta. “What a nightmare. Sometimes I think of all the bad things we deal with now, all the aches and night terrors and depressions, our emotional and physical scars, all our loved ones who we’ll never see again in this life, all the ways they broke us...”

“... And you just know that we’re so lucky compared to what might have been” I finish the thought. “Even though it makes you feel guilty because it essentially means admitting that losing those we’ve lost was worth it compared to the life we would have had otherwise.”

“It was worth not having to send our babies to the Games” corrects Peeta. “For me that’s the breaking point. My parents, my brothers, your sister... I’d rather they died far too early than that my children would.”

“Children you don’t even have” I point out. “Children you never will have.”

I realize that the last comment was a mistake when his hands still and then move to nudge me away from him. Before I know it he’s out of the tub, drying himself off with a towel. Part of me wants to apologise and ask him to come back into the water with me but another part of me doesn’t see the need for it. I have nothing to apologise for. My stance on children is nothing new to him. He sits down on the toilet and puts his prosthetic back in its place.

“You now I’m right” he surprises me by saying as he pulls his pants back on. “You would have felt that way too. Even Prim’s life would have been worth sacrificing for your children.” I want to angrily protest, insulted to my very core by the one person who ought to know what my sister meant to me, but before I can find words he continues. “You’re afraid of love, Katniss. You always have been. That’s why I know you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to love me if we had been forced into marriage by Snow. That’s why I sometimes wonder if our marriage is something you cherish or something you wish you could have had the strength to avoid.”

He walks out of the room and I’m so startled by what he just said that I can’t figure out if I should go after him or let him cool down. I end up staying in the tub, staying until the water goes cold, thinking about the things he said and the element of truth in his words.

That night we make good use of the large bed. We sleep further apart than we have for many years.

 

 

When I wake up the next morning I’m not sure if Peeta and I are on good terms or not. Judging by how little he says while we get dressed and eat breakfast I assume he’s still upset with me for what I said yesterday. When the prep teams arrive to make sure we are presentable I’m almost relieved because it gives us an excuse not to interact without there having to be anything more to it. We go through the motions of being prepped, styled and dressed and I find I miss Effie terribly when some guy we’ve never met before shows up to escort us to the grand re-opening of the park.

When we arrive we’re reunited with the other victors. They all seem to be in a good mood, even Enobaria. Peeta and I probably stick out like sore thumbs with our more sombre dispositions but none of our fellow victors expect us to be in good spirits for Capitol events anyway so nobody seems to think much about it. Thankfully there is much less focus on Peeta and me this time than there was six years ago. We’re allowed to blend in with the group of specially invited guests. President Deaver gives a speech, Johanna Mason is handed an enormously large pair of scissors to cut the bright red ribbon with and everybody claps and cheers as Central Capitol Park is officially re-opened. The highlight of the event for me is when I spot Effie bossing around a group of twenty-something men and women working behind the scenes. It seems the reason she doesn’t have time to be our escort is because she has a much grander schedule to keep track of.

Before the public is let in the special guests get thirty minutes to tour the park in seclusion. A chance to see and admire before all you really see is the crowds. Us former victors end up walking together, comforted by each other’s presence even though none of us would say it out loud. A path of white pebbled stones leads into the park and after about fifteen yards it divides into three in a way that draws my mind to the shape of a trident and Finnick Odair. We take a left. In the corner of my eye I spot Gale in a group of government officials. He takes a right.

We walk slowly through the park, admiring its beauty. I feel instantly at home there among the collection of trees, the beautiful flower arrangements and the large patches of green grass where people can play with their children, enjoy a picnic or just lay on their backs and watch the clouds sailing by above. If I had to live in the Capitol this is where I would spend the majority of my time.

Our thirty minutes of seclusion are almost up before we’ve seen even a third of the large park. During our walk Beetee has demonstrated to us the electronic maps he has created for the park. It’s just a small piece of plastic that you carry in your hand but press the right button and you get a hologram map of the entire park or of the section you are currently in. You can enter a specific part of the park you wish to go to and the map will tell you how to find it. Beetee uses his map to take us to the centre of the park where the map shows a lake. When we get there the lake is just as beautiful as I would have thought but it’s not the perfect circle of water that catches my attention.

It’s the statue on a black marble pillar at the centre of the lake.

A silver statue placed in the exact middle of the new park, looking like it cost more than the rest of the park put together. A statue of two sixteen year-olds standing face to face, holding nightlock berries in their hands.

Even from our thirty yard distance I can tell that the details are meticulous. A perfect replica of one of the most defining moments of my life. Seeing it makes me sick.

“Why on earth would anyone want a statue of that in the middle of the park?” breathes Peeta beside me.

“Because that was the moment when Panem’s freedom was born” answers Beetee. “It took almost another two years for it to be complete, sure, but it was set in motion in that moment.”

“Why can’t people just move on? Why the constant reminder?”

“Because it gives people hope. Helps them to remember.”

I say nothing, staring at the statue with my mouth completely dry. My eyes go to Peeta and he meets my stare, looking as flabbergasted as I feel. His eyes leave mine when Johanna throws an arm around his shoulders.

“How does it feel to have a statue built that will constantly remind people that you didn’t do a thing to deserve winning the Hunger Games?” she teases.

“When you put it like that it’s one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever been given” answers Peeta, nudging her ribcage with his elbow.

She laughs, plants a kiss on his cheek and turns to ask Beetee if he thinks we’re allowed to go into the water of the lake and splash around.

Peeta looks at me again, a crooked smile on his face. His hand reaches up and his fingers graze a non-existent braid down my shoulder. I hold my breath for a moment, waiting to see if he will slip into a flashback of whatever skewed memories he might have of that moment with the berries. All that happens is that his smile grows a bit more genuine and I feel myself relax with relief.

“Come on” says Peeta. “We’d better help Beetee before Johanna swims out into the middle of the lake.”

“You go ahead. If I go anywhere near that lake she’ll probably throw me in it.”

He walks off to join Johanna, Beetee and Haymitch by the lake. I have no interest in getting closer to that horrendous statue. Instead I find a patch of green grass to lie down on, taking the opportunity to enjoy the serenity. At any moment the relative peace might be broken by crowds of Capitol citizens and I have no desire to mingle with them but Plutarch made it clear to us that we would not be allowed to leave until we’ve spent at least half an hour out among the crowds.

After a while I hear the sounds of people coming closer and eventually reaching the lake. There’s a lot of ooh-ing and aah-ing over the lake and the statue but at first people seem to be leaving us victors alone. Then I begin to hear people talking to Johanna, Peeta, Haymitch and the rest. I keep my eyes closed, hoping I will be left alone if it looks like I’ve fallen asleep.

My eyes open when I hear a mother asking Peeta if she could take a picture with him, me and her child. I lift myself up on my elbows, a little surprised to see how many people have made it to the lake, spotting my husband in the middle of a small crowd. I hear him tell the woman that I’m not currently available for posing for photographs but he agrees to pose with the child on his own. I watch with a knot in my stomach as he talks to the child, a girl looking like she’s about the age of five or six, compliments her two little braids and eventually lifts her up and raises her high in the air. The girl is either the type who’s never been shy around strangers or she’s been disarmed by his charms because she seems very happy to be lifted up in the air by a man she doesn’t even know. Peeta holds her and smiles for the camera and I begin to worry that we’ve got a real problem in our marriage now. When he smiled at me earlier I took it to mean that our brief spat the night before is forgotten but seeing him with a child brings the original conflict right back in my mind.

I’m reluctant to leave my spot on the grass but I’m starting to become aware that people are looking at me. I don’t know why nobody comes up to me but at some point someone is bound to and when that happens I’d rather be surrounded by people I trust and care about. Brushing grass off my pants I make my way over to Haymitch.

“Sweetheart! Decided to join us, did you?”

“Don’t tell me you’re _enjoying_ any of this” I mutter to him.

“Not yet but I think I’m about to” grins Haymitch. “Go join your better half. People want to take pictures.”

“How come you never refer to me as Peeta’s better half?”

“You’ll figure it out one of these days.”

I roll my eyes and am about to tell him that I have no intention of posing for people who still think of Peeta and me as some form of fairytale couple brought to life when my eyes find Peeta in the crowds and I realize that he’s currently posing for pictures together with Johanna. It still bothers me that he’s close with her and I hate that about myself because I know there’s no logic reason to be concerned. I’m awfully petty for it but I begrudge her the right to share something with him that I don’t, even if that thing is being tortured at the hands of President Snow.

As soon as I reach Peeta and Johanna I regret coming over to them. Suddenly everyone around us wants a picture of Peeta and me, preferably posing with whoever owns the camera. I’m really not good at smiling for the cameras and I dread spending the next hour or so doing just that. Realizing I’ve got to play along I put a smile on my face and let Peeta do all the talking. I don’t care if I come off as unfriendly. Maybe if I do people will leave me alone.

After about fifteen minutes a woman about our age comes up to us and I force myself not to groan and roll my eyes at the look on her face. Like most people who come up to us she looks like she’s almost moved to tears by our mere presence, an honour which we definitely do not deserve. But when Peeta gives her a friendly smile and she begins to talk I realize that this woman actually has a genuine reason to be emotional in this moment.

“I’m so glad to meet you” she tells Peeta, ignoring me completely. “It’s an honour. You see, I...” She looks down at her hands for a moment. “I have a seven year old girl. She had cancer when she was three and she... she lost her leg below the knee.”

Peeta looks shaken. I’m pretty unsettled myself, having a hard time stomaching anything that deals with suffering children. For once I am the one who finds my bearings, and my voice, first.

“I’m so very sorry” I tell the mother.

“It’s... hard, to say the least” the woman tells us, tears welling up in her eyes. “When she first got sick I thought I would be eternally happy if she only got better, but now... It’s hard explaining to such a young child why she has to go through all of it. Why she has to be different.” She suddenly smiles through her tears and looks at Peeta. “When my daughter feels upset because of her leg or somebody teases her I always tell her that she’s just like Peeta Mellark. I tell her about everything you’ve done for Panem and that you’ve lost a leg, just like her.”

“Does that help her at all?” asks Peeta, his voice a touch shaky.

The mother nods, smiling through her tears.

“It’s the only thing that does help. It almost makes her... proud.” She looks a little nervous but is still smiling. “She’s here with me today, we came all the way from Former 3, and I was just wondering...”

“I’d love to meet her” says Peeta before she can ask.

The smile she gives him is full of relief and appreciation. She turns to go and get her daughter but the crowds are getting rather dense at this point and I notice that there are policemen, the law enforcement that replaced the peacekeepers, surrounding us and the other victors to keep the masses from crowding us.

“Let her through” I tell the people around us. “Give way.”

It seems my voice has some form of authority in the common crowd since people do move to the side to let her pass. She disappears for a moment and then returns with a little girl holding her hand tightly. The child has soft brown curls of hair reaching down to her waist, a slightly freckled face with round cheeks and big, green eyes and is the only girl child I’ve seen today who wears pants and not a dress or a skirt. It’s not hard to figure out why. Even through the sounds of the crowd I can hear that one of her feet doesn’t touch the ground in the same way as the other. It’s a type of sound I’m very used to, sharing my life with someone else who has a fake leg and foot. The girl is shy and holds her mother’s hand tightly, burying her face in her mother’s leg when they stop in front of us. The mother caresses the curls on her head and smiles lovingly at her.

“It’s okay, Mary” she says.

Peeta kneels down to get on level with the girl, his right knee resting on the ground while the left leg bends in front of him. He has a friendly smile on his face but I can tell that he’s not just being polite. It’s rare nowadays to see him this touched and it brings a strange feeling to my heart.

“Hi” he says in the tone that seems to work so well with children. “You’re Mary? It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Peeta.”

The girl lifts her face from her mother’s leg for just a second to look at him but then her shyness takes over. Peeta talks to her and manages to gently coax her to look at him and talk to him after a few minutes. I watch the two of them in silence, barely aware of anything else but the pair of them and the weeping mother. Peeta talks, asks questions, makes the girl feel bolder and less shy. After a while he hikes up the leg of his pants and reveals his prosthetic. He lets Mary touch it and ask him questions and then he does something I’ve never seen him do in public before, even during the Quarter Quell. He unclasps the prosthetic leg and removes it, showing the girl what the stub on his leg looks like. I automatically reach out a hand to help steady him while he keeps his leg stretched out so that the girl can see. He doesn’t flinch when she touches the sore skin of the stub and he laughs when she looks up at him and with a proud grin tells him that her stub is much nicer looking than his.

He eventually puts the prosthetic back on but keeps the leg of his pants hiked up to above his knee. By now Mary seems to have decided he is her new best friend and she leans in and whispers something in his ear. He nods and then she grabs the hem of her own pant leg and hikes it up a little bit, just enough so that her own prosthetic is visible. Peeta reaches out his hand and touches it down by the ankle, commenting to her that hers seems to be much stronger and sturdier than his even though I know that has to be a lie since the one he’s got is the best one Panem has to offer. It’s amazing how he’s gotten the shy girl to come out of her shell. When the girl’s mother asks if she can take a picture he grabs Mary and lifts her up, letting her sit on his left leg. I back away so that I’m not in the shot and almost jump out of my skin when Johanna speaks in my ear from behind me.

“Can’t we send all the kids to Peeta?” she suggests. “He’s the only one of us victors who’s got any skill with them, except maybe Beetee. And Annie, but she’s not here.”

I don’t reply, watching with a growing sense of sorrow as my husband bonds with the little girl who lost her leg to cancer. It’s plain as day how good he is with kids and how much he enjoys having them around. In one of my least selfish moments I wish that he could have loved anyone but me so that he could get to have kids of his own. For a very brief moment I feel that maybe the idea of children isn’t so scary after all. The little girl currently whispering another secret in my husband’s ear looks happy even though she’s been through something terrible. Maybe Peeta is right about how life is worth the risk of suffering.

The moment is gone as soon as it came. Peeta rises and gets a hug from Mary’s mother and I walk up next to him with my eyes on the little girl who’s looking at him with something close to adoration. I think she and her mother might be the first people who can look at Peeta or me that way without it feeling strange and undeserved. For this girl he is more than some larger than life figure they’ve read about or seen clips of on TV and they think they know because they watched him live, die and suffer on TV. He is a hero to her because they have something in common and he is somebody people look up to even though he, just like her, has lost a leg. It feels more real and more worth everything we’ve been through when somebody like her can draw strength from him rather than people just telling us we’re an inspiration to Panem.

Eventually we are called away by Effie, the meet and greet part of the schedule being over, and he tousles the girl’s hair and gives her a smile before he bids her goodbye and leaves. I linger for a moment longer, wishing I could say or do something to show this child and her mother that they have affected us just as he has affected them. I grab the scarf around my neck, a black satin thing adorned by the golden likeness of my mockingjay pin, and hand it to the girl.

“Here” I say. “For you.” It’s not nearly as good as being able to give her something from Peeta but I hope that a gift from his wife, the woman he fought so hard to protect, will suffice. “A token of our appreciation. Something to remember us by.”

My stylist and my prep team are no doubt going to be furious that I gave the scarf away but I don’t care. It does more good in the hands of little Mary than it would around my neck for the televised interview this evening. I don’t stay to wait for Mary or her mother to form any word of thanks or try to protest at the gift. Effie is waving me over and I offer her a smile as I hurry to catch up with the rest of them.

 

 

Peeta and I don’t get a moment alone for the rest of the day. After we are done at the park we take part in a large luncheon and then we are taken to the Entertainment Headquarters building where we are prepped for our big interview. The comfortable pants and blouse I wore during the day are hastily removed and after I’ve been showered off and polished further I’m given a blue dress to wear and a large lecture by the designer for having ruined everything by giving the scarf away. The hairdresser spends forever arranging my hair in ten separate braids, nine of which she gathers up and arranges in twists and turns into a large big bun of braids. The tenth is left falling down my shoulder and my fingers nervously play with it while they put makeup on me. When I’m finally done I’m taken backstage where Peeta waits for me. He’s been dressed up in a black suit with the golden mockingjay image on the pockets. Since I don’t have the scarf anymore we don’t match but they will just have to live with that horror.

The last time we came to the Capitol we gave a brief interview shot in a small studio and the person asking us questions was a stranger. Tonight they’ve brought out the big guns and we’re on a large stage in front of a big audience and the person sitting in a recliner next to the small loveseat they’ve arranged for us is none other than Caesar Flickerman. He looks almost the same as he did all those years ago thanks to continued use of plastic surgery, and acts like he’s a long time close friend. I assume they chose him because they thought we’d be more comfortable opening up if he was the one asking the questions but it has the exact opposite effect on both of us. Being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman brings back far too many unpleasant memories.

Peeta and I sit together on the loveseat, our sides touching but not our hands. The cheers from the audience soon dies down and Caesar begins his interview, talking to us as if we’re old friends. I leave it up to Peeta to answer most of the questions because he’s much better at it. At first Caesar asks us mostly about how we find the Capitol nowadays and what we thought of the park.

“I must say, I found the statue of the two of you just _so_ inspirational” claims Caesar. “Tell me, what did you feel when you first saw it?”

“That it was big” answers Peeta, earning him laughter from the audience.

“And silvery” I add.

“It’s strange to see yourself up there” continues Peeta. “It doesn’t seem to us like we did anything to warrant such an honour. There are others, so many others, who deserve to be immortalized in statues more than we do.”

“On that note, were you moved by the Memorial Wall?” asks Caesar.

"Actually we haven’t had a chance to see it.”

The Memorial Wall is located on the eastern side of the palace walls. The original wall got damaged during the war and it was rebuilt using some form of black stone on which they inscribed the names of everyone who fell during the war. On one hand I think it’s a nice notion but on the other I know there has to be countless people who gave their lives but who don’t have their names up on the wall because nobody knows about their deaths or how it happened. I prefer the idea of the similar Tribute’s Memorial located on the sight of the very first arena. It is a large, white cornucopia where every tribute’s name is inscribed. 1800 names, all in all. The names of the winners are apparently at the mouth of the cornucopia, the 75 names inscribed in copper rather than the black tone used for the 1725 children who never made it out alive. If I had gotten a vote I would not have differentiated between winners and victims but at the same time I like knowing that if I ever visit the monument I will know where to find names like Finnick’s, Beetee’s or Mags’.

“We support the monuments” says Peeta. “Although... For the most part I think people view them as paying homage to those who sacrificed and were sacrificed.”

“Yes, of course” nods Caesar.

“I prefer seeing them as constant reminders. A way of safeguarding our future. All of us alive today will remember the Hunger Games, the oppression and the war for as long as we live but there will come a day when all of this is in the distant history. We’re told in school about great wars that shook a world larger than we can even imagine but it isn’t real or tangible to us because it was so long ago and in such a different world. My hope is that the memorials will always serve to remind people of the horrors we fought and ensure that it never happens again. Once the Hunger Games have become myth and legend they might be seen as something other than what they were and people might think they must have been entertaining or exciting. I hope that one look at the Tribute’s Memorial will remind them that it was a slaughter of children and nothing else.”

The audience has gone completely silent by now and Caesar has a look on his face that I can’t define. He was a large part of that slaughter for the majority of his career and he was one of the people who made it into entertainment. I hope he feels bad now that Peeta lays it out like that.

“The last time you visited the Capitol you unveiled another monument” says Caesar in an attempt to steer the conversation into a less touchy subject. “The beautiful statue of Katniss that stands on the palace square and was designed by Peeta. What do you both think about that statue?”

“It’s... weird seeing myself that big and in bronze” I say, giving Peeta a moment. “I can only hope that when people see it they are reminded of the reason why we rebelled, like Peeta said.”

“It is a true symbol of inspiration, Katniss” says Caesar but it sounds unlikely to me. “Not only that but it is clearly a work of love. A husband’s monument to his wife.” I said something similar to Peeta once – or was it him who said it to me? Either way it’s odd hearing it come out of Caesar’s mouth but I can only assume this will lead up to talking about our relationship. “All of Panem fell in love with you as a couple all those years ago. Tell me, how is your life today?”

“People would probably be disappointed” I say. I realize when the words leave my mouth that it sounds like we have a bad relationship so I quickly continue. “Our life is pretty normal. We work, we see friends and family, we curl up in front of the fireplace in the evening just like most people do. It’s all either one of us ever wanted, really. The chance to be normal, together.”

“I think we were all very glad to see that the star-crossed lovers of District 12 got their happily ever after” says Caesar. “Although I think I speak for most of us when I tell you I was very sad not to get to take part in your nuptials.”

“We thought about having a big, public wedding” Peeta lies. “Ultimately... Any big wedding would have reminded us of the one that was originally planned for us and of all the people who were supposed to be there but who lost their lives.” His eyes are sad and he looks down at his hands for a moment. “Not just our family but many of our friends.” He looks back up at Caesar. “Something small and intimate felt like the better choice. Something just for us. I never really cared about a big wedding anyway – all I wanted was to be married to Katniss.”

“Was that how you felt too, Katniss?” asks Caesar.

“Yes” I say. “It felt wrong to invite all of Panem when we couldn’t invite Peeta’s parents and brothers or my father and sister. The whole idea of a big wedding felt tainted. I just wanted to be with Peeta and didn’t really care about the wedding itself.”

“That might just be one of the most romantic things I have ever heard” Caesar blatantly lies with much enthusiasm. “Although I still think it’s a shame that you two are so secretive with your life together. Now, I must ask you the question that I’m sure all of Panem is dying to hear the answer to... Are there any other milestones you have neglected to share with the rest of us? Say, for instance... little bundles of joy?”

Peeta opens his mouth to answer but I speak up before he’s able to get a word out.

“Not yet.” I offer a smile at Caesar and the cameras and lovingly take Peeta’s hand in mine in what’s only partially a gesture for the cameras. “I know it’s been almost ten years since we married but I just can’t get enough of him and I’m not ready to share him with anyone else just yet. Even with our children.”

Peeta gives me a warm look and the smile I respond with is just for him.

“We haven’t fully decided on whether we’re going to have kids or not” he says, looking at me while he talks. “For now we couldn’t be happier just the two of us.”

Caesar looks a bit surprised by the answer, probably having expected to hear that we were planning a family of at least a dozen children. Like a true professional he quickly rallies and delivers yet another one of those platitude statements that makes me feel so tired of our public image, no matter how well-meaning it is.

“I hope that you do have children someday. Many years down the line there should be people in Panem who are able to say that Peeta and Katniss were my grandparents, or my great-great-great grandparents. I could imagine no finer lineage.”

“Many years down the line everyone should be proud of their lineage” I reply.

After the interview is over and we are allowed backstage Peeta takes me into his arms and holds me close. I hug him back, enjoying his embrace, his strength and the certain knowledge that whatever we were mad at each other over yesterday it doesn’t matter now.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk” says Peeta.

“I’m sorry _I_ was a jerk.”

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

“No, you did” I say, pulling back a bit from the hug to look at him. “It’s alright. I know what parts you meant and what parts you did not. For the record... I meant what I said, too. Out there, on the stage.”

He nods and gives me a kiss. Then we’re whiskered away to the big dinner that awaits us and I have no more time to think about it. Later that night as I lie in bed next to my husband I begin to wonder what parts of the things I said I did mean and what parts I did not. Did I just mean that I’m selfish and I want him to myself? Because that certainly is true. But is there some part of me that also meant it when I said that we don’t have children _yet_? For the first time in years I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, I could be brave enough some day.

 

 

Sometimes when I lay awake at night I think about how many changes there have been in my life. How drastically different everything is now from where it was back when I was a child. Back then I could have never even imagined a world without Hunger Games or a tyrannical president in the Capitol or without Prim and Gale. Nor could I ever imagine myself a wife and mother. The last big change in my life happened twelve years ago when I married Peeta and now another big change is approaching fast. I wonder if anybody is ever truly ready for this change and what it means. I feel Peeta’s arm wrapped around me, his hand protectively resting on my belly, and I think of how strange it’s going to be when it’s not just the two of us. Being his one and only love, his one and only priority, is something I have taken for granted for a decade and a half now but soon it won’t just be him and me anymore. A new family member will arrive and sometimes I wonder what that will do to his and my dynamic.

I remember so many times when it’s been just the two of us and I could not have wished for anything better. When I was little I always hated long lasting storms because I grew bored so easily but all the years I’ve been with Peeta I can’t recall ever being very bored during one. We always find something to do, something to talk about. Sometimes just curling up with him under a blanket in front of the fireplace has been enough to keep me satisfied.

I think of all the routines we’ve developed over the past fifteen years. Daily life routines like who does what around the kitchen and when we eat and who gets to shower first. Weekly routines like dinners with Haymitch and trips into town on Saturdays to buy and barter. Yearly routines like how we spend the harvest festival and how we celebrate our birthdays and anniversary. All those things will have to change now, one way or another. We’ll create new routines and new traditions with our child but it seems a little sad having to give up on some of the things we’ve taken for granted during the course of our marriage.

I know that Peeta has always pined for children but I’ve been perfectly content just being the two of us. We’ve grown together in a way I never thought two people could. Haymitch once likened us to a pair of horses that had been drawing the same chariot for so long that one could not do well without the other any longer and I remember taking it as a compliment. Peeta and I are a team, that’s just the way things are. Even when we’re not together physically we’re still working towards the same goals and living one life. I hunt, he bakes. He dusts, I mop. When we sit out on the porch and watch the sunset in springtime he paints and I sing. We’re like two halves of one whole and we just don’t do well without one another.

How many nights have we lain awake talking? Far more than I could ever remember. A few conversations stand out and will always be with me but we have talked about so many things during these years that we could fill a dozen libraries with the transcripts of those conversations. Even so there always seems to be something new to explore about one another. We can always find something to talk about and that comforts me but I also find great relief in that we don’t _need_ to talk all the time. We can enjoy a silence together which is one of the things I appreciate about our relationship.

How will we fare when a third person enters the equation? Technically I guess there’s always been a third person constantly present in our lives but Haymitch is not here _always_. He is our family but he lives his own life and does not interfere with our routines. A baby, on the other hand, will. From the moment it is born it will change our lives forever and that change cannot be undone. It worries me a little. I love our life the way it is and I don’t want anything to change too drastically. What if Peeta and I can’t find the time to take the walks we like to take in the afternoon a few days a week? What if we won’t spend another stormy evening cooped up together under a blanket in front of the fireplace? What if we’ll be too exhausted to lie awake and talk at night, or the child comes in to sleep with us the way Prim used to go to Mother’s bed when she had a nightmare or couldn’t sleep? Good grief, what if the kid interrupts us making love?

Sometimes when I think of things like this it feels like I’m losing my husband. I know it’s an insane thought; a child is said to bring you closer together and I know lots of couples whose relationships seem wonderful even with a handful of kids. But Peeta’s been mine and mine alone for fifteen years and I don’t like to share. I don’t want to lose out on his attention or affections to anybody, even our child. I might feel differently about it when the baby has arrived; maybe it will be me who ends up giving too much of myself to the baby and not enough to Peeta but right now that seems strange to imagine. Our family has consisted of the two of us and Haymitch for so long that I can’t even fathom how another person could fit in without everything changing entirely.

For me it could have been enough to just be Peeta and I till death do us part but I know it would never have been enough for him, no matter how much he loves me. The loss of his entire family in one fell swoop during the war took a deeper toll than he likes to let on and I know he misses being part of a father-mother-children constellation. He will talk to me about almost everything but getting him to open up about the family he was born into and lost in its entirety is like pulling teeth. I can only remember one time when he spoke openly about it and that was the summer before we were married. It was one of those nights when we were awake talking until the early hours of the morning.

 

 

“Does it bother you at all, Peeta?” I ask that night while we rest in each other’s arms. “I mean... did it hurt you? That you had an older brother in the reaping who didn’t take your place just moments after I volunteered for Prim?”

“No” he tells me. “It wasn’t like that in my family.”

I lay quiet for a moment, unable to imagine not being willing to sacrifice yourself for your younger sibling.

“I thought about it” I tell him. “On the train... In the Capitol... When I found you bleeding by the river... I wondered what your brother thought and felt about it. What your parents thought when their youngest was in the Games and their older sons just sat there watching.”

He lets out a short, joyless laugh against my shoulder.

“You think it would have been easier for them if it were one of my brothers?”

“I think that if I were them I would have been ashamed that my own children did not have the courage to defend their younger sibling.”

“We’re not talking standing up for me if some kids try to bully me; we’re talking voluntarily going to certain death.” His voice has a sharper edge then. “My brothers _did_ stand up for me. Ryean took more than one beating that was meant for me, sparing me from Mother’s wrath by taking the blame for something I had forgotten to do or not done well enough. Scotti would slip me pieces of bread under the table when there wasn’t enough for all of us to eat. Those things matter too, Katniss. That neither of them volunteered for me at the reaping means nothing. Scotti was too old anyway, already twenty-one. Ryean, he was in his last year of reaping and had made it that long without getting drawn. Why should he throw his life away now that he was safe? He had a sweetheart; he had a future. Just because I am the youngest of us three it doesn’t mean my life is more valuable than theirs were. My parents would have been just as devastated had it been Ryean in the arena with you.”

“I’m sorry” I say. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

"What you did for Prim was unprecedented” says Peeta. “I bet there were many who wished they could have had the same courage in that situation but I think most of us would just have been too stunned to react before it was too late. I don’t hate my brother for not taking my place. I know he mourned when I left and I know he was glad to see me return. You never saw me with my family, Katniss. You don’t know what we meant to each other.”

“I saw you with them” I protest.

“Not when we were alone.”

“I’m sorry” I say again. “I didn’t know your brothers... They sound like nice people.”

“They were.”

He rolls over on his back, away from me. I turn my head and look at him, seeing the pain of grief on his face and wishing he would express it more often. We talk a lot about my losses – my father, my sister and by extension my mother. We hardly ever talk about his. I realize we haven’t even documented his mother and his brothers much in the book. Peeta has sketched them but he hasn’t written anything down about them yet. Maybe the pain is just too deep for him to be able to deal with it just yet. For me it helps to write about people in the book but for him it might be different.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to them” he says after a while. “The last time I ever saw them was the morning of the reaping for the Quarter Quell. Father and Scotti stayed with me the night before but I didn’t say goodbye to them because I thought I would get to see them and Ryean and Mother before they shipped us off.”

“I didn’t know that” I say, reaching out my hand to gently touch his arm.

“I knew I would never get to see them again when we boarded that train. Just... I didn’t expect them to be the ones to die while I lived.”

“Peeta...” I say softly.

“Nothing remains of them now. Ryean was going to be a father, did I tell you that? He told me the week before the reaping. Him and his girl, they married shortly after I came home from the Victory tour, as you recall.”

“Is that where you got the idea to tell Panem I was pregnant?” I ask.

“No. I don’t know...” He sighs heavily. “She died along with him and the others. Taking my niece or nephew with her. I would have loved being an uncle.”

I roll over on my side and place a loving kiss on his shoulder. He longs for children. He’s marrying a woman who doesn’t want to give him any. He was going to be an uncle but the Capitol took that away from him. Maybe he even feels responsible for what happened to his family, for the part him and I played. I’m the one who should feel responsible. I was the one who lit the flame.

 

 

We didn’t say anything else about it that night, nor any night thereafter. Eventually he did write about his mother and brothers but I never read the texts. I don’t know why. It somehow feels like invading his privacy even though the whole meaning of the book is for the lost lives to be remembered. Maybe I just want to know more about my dead in-laws from Peeta’s mouth, not his hands.

While I’m thinking about all of this I feel his arm tense, his breathing quicken and then he awakens with a gasp. Nightmare. They never leave us entirely though I suppose nobody gets to live a lifetime without them.

“It’s okay” I whisper softly in the darkness, letting him know that I’m awake. “You’re with me, safe in bed.”

His breath comes in shallow pants for a few seconds while he gets his bearings. The hand on my stomach moves in a caress. I so rarely get to comfort him from his bad dreams because I usually sleep through them but tonight I’m wide awake.

“Did you dream?” I ask needlessly.

“I was back in the Quarter Quell” he says. “Only, Johanna and Finnick really were against us and they tied me up and made me watch when they killed you. And you really were pregnant, about as far along as you are now. I feel horrible when I dream about good people being bad.”

“They’re just dreams” I remind him gently.

“Doesn’t mean it scares me any less.”

“Hey... I was thinking...” The words that follow spill out of my mouth before I can think it over. “If the baby is a boy would you like to name him after your father or one of your brothers?”

Peeta takes so long to answer that I begin to wonder if he’s fallen back asleep.

“Do you even remember what their names were?” he then asks.

“I do. I know you miss your family. I thought... maybe you would feel closer to them if your son carried one of their names?”

“Wouldn’t you rather name our son, if it is a son, after someone who meant something to you too?” asks Peeta.

“They did mean something to me.” He snorts but I persist. “They were your family. If they were alive they would be my family.” I pause. “They were our baby’s family.”

He falls silent again for a long time.

“Maybe we should hold off on naming the kid before we see him or her. They say that sometimes parents see their child for the first time and can instantly tell what name suits them and what name does not.” Another slight pause. “But I wouldn’t mind my son carrying my father’s name.”

“Then it’s decided. If the baby is a boy and if the name fits him then we will name him after his grandfather.” I turn my head to look at him and he smiles and kisses my cheek. “Perhaps the baby will grow up to be a baker, too.”

“Or a hunter” says Peeta. “Or neither. Maybe our kid will grow up to be a geese farmer, just like Uncle Haymitch.”

“Caesar Flickerman would be so disappointed” I say with a little giggle. “I think he sees himself fifteen years from now interviewing our child about how it feels to have invented a machine that brings eternal life and brings the dead back to life.”

“So long as the baby is happy I don’t care what he or she becomes as an adult” says Peeta sleepily. “I love that our child will have the chance to be whatever he or she wants to be.”

“And will never be a tribute” I add.

“Have I thanked you?” whispers Peeta in my ear. “For agreeing to this?”

I turn my head a little further and steal a kiss before settling down to go to sleep. He doesn’t need to thank me; the happiness I see in him over the pregnancy is thanks enough.

 

 

 


	8. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weakest chapter in this story, in my own opinion. The flashback bits aren't particularly meaningful or interesting and the lead-in is rather clunky... But it is what it is and I'm posting it as such.

The day Peeta walks through the door with my mother in tow I realize that this is serious business for people other than just my husband and me. My mother has not set foot in former District 12 since it was initially destroyed; too many memories and ghosts haunting the place for her to be able to face it. Yet now she is here, a few weeks before my expected delivery, having overcome her demons to help bring the baby into the world and of course to get the chance to meet her new grandchild.

I should probably be moved by this and given how prone to emotional outbursts I've been since the month of May it's shocking that I am not, but I just can't find myself sympathising. I understand full well why it is difficult for her to come here but for years I wasn't able to leave and she once again failed me as a mother. She should have come to see me, to take care of me, the one person in her family who still lived. Instead she stayed away. Showing up now is too little too late and I'm petty enough that I don't think she deserves to coo over a grandchild when she's spent so much time refusing to come and see the daughter who is bearing it.

Peeta, who is not nearly as skilled as I am when it comes to holding a grudge, seems pleased that she is here. Probably because nobody is left from the family he was born into and that makes family all the more important to him.

That thought sets me off where my mother's arrival couldn't and I start to blubber like a complete idiot. Mother decides to start playing parent right off the bat and hurries over to embrace me as best she can with my big belly in-between us, obviously under the assumption that it is the sight of her that sets my tears off. I pull myself together and excuse myself to sit down, not at all in the mood to pretend like there's still some form of mother-daughter bond binding us together. That bond died for good when she as good as abandoned me after Prim's death.

"Peeta seems well" says Mother the minute my husband has disappeared up the stairs with her luggage.

I try not to roll my eyes. I'm the pregnant one yet she's commenting on Peeta?

"He's excited" I say, wondering how coldly I can treat her and still play the it's-my-hormones card. "He's been waiting fifteen years for this."

"He won't have to wait much longer" Mother comments, removing the scarf she's had wrapped around her neck and appraising the size of my by now frighteningly huge belly with her eyes. "Your due date will be here in just a few weeks. You must have conceived your child around your own birthday. There's... such symmetry to that, don't you think?"

The comment makes me roll my eyes. It sounds far too sickeningly sweet and I seem to have developed an allergy against things like that. Sickeningly sweet belongs to Peeta's and my fake relationship during the Hunger Games. Within our real relationship we keep the sickeningly sweet confined to when it's just him and me, and even then it's scarce.

Mother of course sees the less-than-pleased look on my face and, since she obviously does not know me at all anymore, misinterprets the whole thing.

"Don't be nervous, Katniss" she says reassuringly, leaning over to place her hand on mine. "You will get through the birth with no trouble. You are strong and healthy and still young."

Why would I be nervous about that? At no point during this whole process have I felt any fear or anxiety about the way pregnancies always end for the mother. It's true that when I was younger and women who had been in labour for days were brought to our house I fled as fast as I could, unable to stand the sight and sound of their pain. For my own part however I'm not concerned. I've been in pain before, dealt with the worst pain possible even. What's childbirth in comparison to the wounds I suffered in the arenas or my body being on fire or the pain in my throat after Peeta tried to strangle me?

Speaking of, husband dearest chooses that moment to come back down the stairs and thankfully interrupt what my mother seems to think is a moment of bonding.

"Mrs. Everdeen, can I get you anything?" he asks.

I roll my eyes again at that. Twelve years of marriage to me and he addresses my mother as Mrs. Everdeen?

"I've told you on the phone and I told you at the train station, call me Mother" my mother tells him with a smile. "Something to eat would be lovely. The food on the train is not exactly what one would expect."

Peeta makes a face at me behind my mother's back and I would have had a difficult time not laughing if it wasn't for my surprise at the absurdity of the words that just came from the woman's mouth. Peeta should call her 'Mother'? Why on earth would he do that? She's been to see us precisely zero times since we've been married and she only speaks to him on the phone maybe once or twice a year when he's the one who answers one of her calls to me. The very idea of him suddenly calling her Mother as if they have a real mother-in-law/son-in-law relationship is downright absurd. He should call her by her first name and nothing else.

"I can't believe you are finally giving me a grandchild" my mother sighs happily, leaning back in her chair while Peeta heads for the kitchen. "I was beginning to think it would never happen. You are a touch old to be having your first baby, especially for a woman who's been married since her early twenties."

"I guess I never longed for motherhood" I mumble.

"You'll get the hang of it. And Peeta, he'll make a great father."

"He will" I nod in agreement. "All the kids in town are crazy about him. Plus I've seen him take care of a dead-ass drunk Haymitch like a thousand times so I know he's good at cleaning up vomit and ushering someone to bed."

"Katniss!" Mother says in a reproaching tone.

"Here you go, Mrs. Everdeen" says Peeta, walking in from the kitchen carrying a trey with coffee and one of his cheese buns. The bread is fresh and still a bit warm from the oven, just enough so the cheese melts a little. He sets it down on the table in front of my mother and then walks over and sits next to me. "Dinner is warming in the oven but it will be another half-hour."

"This looks lovely, dear" my mother says and takes a big bite from the bread.

With Peeta's arm around me I lean back on the couch, wincing a bit at the pain in my back, letting Peeta handle the conversation with my mother for now. I find it hard to think of anything that I have to say to her that wouldn't result in an argument or wounded feelings so it's better to just keep quiet. Peeta can always be counted upon to keep a conversation going and so I leave it up to him.

After about twenty minutes we hear the back door open and Haymitch comes swaggering in, sober and chipper and obviously hungry.

"Is that Peeta's groosling-in-bacon I smell warming in the oven?" he says with a pleased grin on his face. Then he notices my mother and stops. "Mrs. Everdeen! Wasn't expecting to see you. Welcome back to the old district."

"Thank you" says Mother coolly. She looks at Peeta and me. "I didn't know you had invited Haymitch over for dinner."

"It's something of a... standing invitation" smiles Peeta.

It provokes me that my mother doesn't know this already. Haymitch came over for dinner every once in a while between our first and second Games, she knows that Peeta and I have a close relationship with him and if she had bothered to take any real interest in my life after the war she would know that Haymitch comes over whenever he feels like it. It rubs me the wrong way that she seems this surprised to see him and while I am aware that she probably hoped to spend the evening alone with me and Peeta I'm suddenly determined to have Haymitch stay. His presence would also have the added bonus of breaking some of the tension.

"Have a seat" I tell him. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Thank you, sweetheart" smirks Haymitch and sits down in Peeta's favorite chair. "More and more of you to see each day" he adds, giving my belly a pointed look which I ignore.

I take some petty joy in seeing that my mother is uncomfortable.

"It is very nice to see you again, Haymitch" she says. "But I was hoping that, tonight being my first night here, it would be just the family."

"Haymitch is family" I answer.

"I'm going to go set the table" says Peeta and gets up from his seat. I follow him with my eyes as he disappears into the kitchen, a little annoyed with him for leaving me alone with my mother and Haymitch.

"So how are things in former Four?" asks Haymitch.

"Thriving" answers Mother. "The hospital is beautiful, located right by the water. We have machines to make diagnoses and conduct procedures. We have clean linens and bandages and gauze. We have medicine to give to those who need it. Going to the hospital every day knowing that I will have tools at my disposal to help the suffering is a feeling like none other."

"Things like that make the revolution seem worth it, doesn't it?" says Haymitch carefully, knowing that the revolution and Prim's death are very sore subjects with her.

"Yes" nods Mother. "I would like to visit the hospital here in town and see how things are doing there. It's hard to imagine a modern hospital here in the former coal district."

"You should go" I encourage, glad for an excuse not to have her in the house every day for the next few weeks. The baby kicks and I rub my belly with my left hand. "You should definitely go. Maybe you could even help out there a few days a week? Hanging around the house with Peeta and me is bound to get boring."

"Oh, no, Katniss" she smiles, putting her hand on mine. "Now that I'm finally here again I want to spend my time with you."

"Ha!" cackles Haymitch. "Just wait until she unleashes her pregnancy hormones on you. You'll be glad for any excuse to leave the house. Our little mockingjay is no ray of sunshine on her best days and these past months even Peeta, patron saint of patience and understanding, seems put-off by her bouts of anger."

"Go home and eat with your geese in their pen" I snarl.

"See?"

I give him a death glare and struggle up on my feet, announcing that I'm going to see if Peeta needs any help in the kitchen. As I waddle out of the room I can hear my mother asking Haymitch about the geese and I feel a bit of relief that they at least seem to be getting along like they used to. In the kitchen Peeta has set the table and is chopping up lettuce for a salad.

"Hi" he smiles. "Tired of your mom already?"

"Am I a pain in the ass?" I ask.

"What?"

"With the hormones and all?"

He looks up from the lettuce with one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Haymitch." With a sigh I lean back against the kitchen island where Peeta's working, resisting the impulse to reach back my hand and rub the muscles of my aching back. "And my own personal experience of myself."

"He just loves to tease you" smiles Peeta, putting the chopped lettuce into the bowl where he's already got cucumbers, tomatoes and green bell peppers. "A few hormonal outbursts are hardly a big deal. Especially compared to my flashbacks. Don't worry about it, Katniss."

"He doesn't think I'm very jolly at any times" I sulk, grabbing a tomato from the counter and taking a big bite. I chew it slowly and wipe my mouth once I've swallowed. "You must be wondering every day why on earth you love me when there's a whole country full of much more cheerful and funny women who would love to be with you."

"If I wanted bubbly and happy-go-lucky I would have fallen in love with Delly" replies Peeta. He grabs the salad bowl and brings it to the table, giving me a kiss as he passes by me. "I'm in love with  _you_  and I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Right" I say. "So you want what? Grim, sullen, moody? Sounds like there's something wrong with you."

"Passionate" argues Peeta, making some last minute adjustments to the table arrangements. "Headstrong. Determined to do whatever it takes to keep those she loves safe and protected."

A small smile spreads across my face. I wish I could always see myself through Peeta's eyes. The person he sees is someone I would be proud to be.

"So you don't mind that I've been a pain in the ass these months?" I ask.

"You're pregnant" Peeta points out. "Another human being is growing inside your body. We made that baby together yet you're the only one who has to go through the physical stuff. I think you're entitled to being cranky from time to time."

My smile gets warmer and he grins back at me. I wish I could find the words to tell him how much I appreciate his support and his patience but the timer on the counter rings, announcing that dinner is ready.

"Go get your mother and Haymitch" says Peeta. "I'll get the food."

We all sit down together and enjoy the meal. Peeta's groosling wrapped in bacon is delicious and both Haymitch and my mother compliment it. I wish I could eat a lot more than I do but the baby takes up so much room these days that I feel full very quickly. Both Peeta and Haymitch seem pleased that my mother is there and do their best to make her feel welcome. I'm polite but not very warm. On one hand I am glad that she's here and that she will help me when the baby comes but I also can't forgive her for not having come sooner.

By the time dinner is over Mother seems to be quite comfortable both in the house and in the present company. While Peeta begins to clear the table she turns to me and smiles.

"Katniss, why don't we go into the living room and I can take a closer look at you?" she suggests.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"I would like to do a quick examination" answers Mother. "To get an idea of what we're dealing with here, get a feel for the baby's size, that sort of thing."

My first thought is to protest and point out that I've gone to see a midwife at the hospital once a month but then it occurs to me that my mother is going to be the midwife at the actual birth. It makes sense that she should get to take a look and form an opinion.

"Okay" I say and grab a hold of the table to help pull myself up to standing.

"I'll take the dishes" says Haymitch to Peeta and grabs the pile of plates from his hands.

We walk into the living room, Mother, Peeta and me, and she asks me to lie down and lift up my shirt.

"I don't like being on my back" I say. "It makes me feel lightheaded."

"How about the recliner?" she suggests.

I nod and take a seat in Peeta's chair, wondering to myself if I'll be able to get up or if I'll just have to stay here until the baby has been born. I lean the chair back until I'm half-laying, half-sitting and I pull up my shirt to expose my big belly. Peeta takes a seat on the armrest, one arm resting above my head and his other hand taking mine.

Mother kneels and places her hand on my stomach. The look on her face is so very familiar, the look she has when taking care of somebody sick or wounded, and suddenly I don't feel much like her daughter anymore and more like her patient. I don't mind. It's comforting to see her like this again, taking me back to the times when I've had more faith in her.

She examines me in silence for a few minutes and then begins to talk, placing one hand higher up on my stomach and one hand lower.

"This," she says, pressing a bit harder with her lower hand, "is most likely the baby's bottom." She then presses gently with her other hand. "And this, the head. Pretty soon the baby is going to start turning and, once the head is facing downward, align itself to be born."

"This is so neat" grins Peeta. "I can't believe it's almost time!"

"We've got a few more weeks to go, hopefully" says Mother. "Here, do you want to feel?" She grabs his hand and places it where she said the head would be. Peeta looks awestruck as he essentially strokes our child's head for the first time knowingly. "The baby's lungs aren't fully developed yet. He or she also needs to grow a little bit bigger before birth."

"It seems huge as it is" I can't help but comment. It's been about three weeks since the point where I thought my stomach couldn't get any bigger, yet it keeps growing every day.

"The baby will get bigger still" smiles Mother. "Since you're a first-time mother Katniss there's no telling for sure when your time will be up. It will probably be a week or two longer than nine full months."

"And everything seems normal?" asks Peeta.

"Yes" smiles Mother. "A normal, healthy pregnancy as far as I can tell."

Peeta smiles widely and leans down to give me a kiss. I'm relieved to hear my mother say that everything looks fine. I've always trusted her medical judgment. When Peeta removes his hand from my belly I pull my shirt back down and ask him to help me get up.

"Stay seated" suggests Peeta. "I'm going to go help Haymitch clean up and then I should make the bed in the guest room."

"I can do that" offers Mother.

"No, don't be silly, you're our guest" says Peeta. If she notices the distinction of her as a guest while Haymitch is labelled family she doesn't show it.

Peeta leaves the room and Mother begins to ask me all kinds of questions about my pregnancy, wanting details on things like nausea, what I eat, how often the baby kicks and several other issues. She's still in her professional mode but I feel a bit uncomfortable now when she's not fully focused on a physical examination. It's strange to be asked such questions by your own mother, especially those that are of a more intimate nature. Thankfully the interview comes to an end when Peeta and Haymitch return with tea and dessert. Haymitch gives me his hand and helps pull me up to a regular sitting position and then hands me a cup of tea.

The rest of the evening is spent quietly talking while we eat the chocolate cake Peeta baked this morning and drink the rosehip tea I've grown addicted to over the past two months. It's a quite nice evening, all things considered.

 

 

 

Peeta massages my swollen legs and feet while I sit on the side of the bed. My mother has gone to bed in the guestroom located in the spot of this house that matches the one where she had her room in my old house. I'm glad to be alone with Peeta and I'm tired and feeling achy. Part of me wishes the baby would never be born so that I could continue to protect it inside my body but an increasingly bigger part of me longs for the day when the pregnancy is at its end and I can go back to the physical condition I'm used to being in and have my body to myself.

After both my legs and feet have been thoroughly massaged I crawl into bed and suppress a yawn. Peeta leans forward and caresses my stomach, having his bedtime conversation with the baby. It's a ritual that at first felt strange to me but now feels comforting. His gentle hands, his soft whispers, his loving kisses. The baby seems to respond to him because it usually begins to move a lot at this time. After a while I have to tell Peeta to wrap it up or the baby will keep moving around in there and I won't be able to go to sleep.

He pulls the comforter up over me and then goes to get ready for bed. Ten minutes later he climbs in behind me, aligning his body to mine and rests his hand on my swollen belly, just below my breasts. He used to rest his hand by my bellybutton but he can't reach it anymore. I feel him nuzzling close, his soft breaths tickling the back of my neck. I feel a strong longing to turn around and press myself as close to him as possible, curling up into him the way I've done for more than seventeen years, but I know that I can't. Not being able to be as physically close to him as I desire to be frustrates me and tonight it keeps me awake along with the stirring baby.

"Peeta?" I say after a while.

"Mmm?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Do you... find me attractive right now?"

"More than ever before" he answers without pause, kissing my neck.

" _Why_?"

"Katniss Everdeen heavily pregnant with my child" he says. "Katniss  _Mellark_  heavily pregnant with my child, in fact. All of the fantasies from my youth having come to life. What could be more attractive than that?"

"Most teenage boys fantasize about having sex with the girl they crush on" I point out. "Getting her pregnant is usually  _not_  part of the fantasy and seeing her all big and clumsy and bloated like this should be a turn-off."

"True... I suppose there's a difference between fantasies and daydreams" muses Peeta. "My  _fantasies_  mostly involved you without any clothes on. My  _daydreams_  on the other hand were more about what kind of life I wanted."

"You must have spent a lot of time in your head."

"Yeah, I guess so. Whenever I dreamed of what my life would be like as an adult I hoped you would be my wife and the mother of my children, though I never thought I would work up the courage to actually talk to you. Being pregnant becomes you. You're going to make such an amazing mother, and to  _my_  child no less. You look absolutely lovely to me."

On an impulse I grab his hand and move it from my stomach to down between my legs.

"Make me feel good, Peeta" I whisper. I know that in a few weeks I will have to go through childbirth and, following that, an unknown period of time of feeling sore and weary and not like myself. Tonight I want to experience pleasure while I still can. "Please... Make me feel good."

He is more than happy to oblige and begins to touch me in ways he knows work for me, grinning against my shoulder while his fingers move against me.

"Try not to be loud, dear" he smirks and places a wet kiss on my pulse point. "Wouldn't want Mother to hear you, now would we?"

"Peeta!" I exclaim with anger.

He just laughs against my shoulder and continues what he's doing. He does make me feel good that night. Repeatedly. And I do have to wonder if the pillow I use muffles my cries enough that my mother can't overhear them.

 

 

Once I've finished eating I take a seat on the couch in the living room and open the book I began to read a few weeks ago. Peeta cleans up after breakfast and then heads out with bread for Haymitch. Mother joins me in the living room, taking a seat on the end of the couch.

"Will you walk with us to the hospital?" she asks me.

I give her a highly sceptical look over my book.

"I'm gestating."

"A bit of exercise would be good for you." She raises an eyebrow back at me. "I'm surprised. You've always been a very physically active person."

"I still am. Just not when I'm carrying an almost full-grown baby inside of me and my back hurts and I get out of breath very easily." I turn the page in my book and keep my eyes on the text. "Besides, I didn't get much sleep last night. Or the past thirty-or-so nights."

"I don't think I have to tell you that you won't be getting much sleep for the first few years of this child's life."

"All the more reason to rest now, while I still can."

She tilts her head and smiles.

"I'm surprised you let him take care of you to the extent that you do" she then says and I'm surprised enough by the sudden change of topic that I look up from my book again. "Pleasantly surprised. You've always been so independent and headstrong. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough with him to rely on him." I can't stop myself from snorting. I've relied on Peeta since our very first Hunger Games and she ought to know that. "He's a good man."

"Much better than I deserve."

"It's been a huge source of relief for me all these years to know that you've got somebody like him to lean on."

I want to yell at her that having my mother around would have been nice too, especially when Peeta suffers from one of his flashbacks, but I hold my tongue. There's nothing I can do about my mother's loss of parenting instincts now. All I can do is resolve to learn from her mistakes and be a better mother to my child than she ever was to me.

"I'm glad to see you happy, Katniss. You deserve happiness."

"Prim deserved happiness" I say sadly, looking down on my swollen belly and stroking it gently, imagining how excited Prim would have been to become an aunt. She probably would have made me an aunt, too, at some point. "I really wish she were here."

"You have your baby" says Mother, pretending she didn't hear me. "You have Peeta. You have such a wonderful time ahead of you. Oh, it brings me back to when I was young and happily married and pregnant."

I try to imagine what she must have been like back then and what she must have felt. She was much younger than I am now and probably madly in love with my father since she left her comparatively comfortable life in town to be with him in the Seam. I wonder if she was full of hope for the future or if she was as terrified as I am. She knew her baby might one day get reaped. Was that something that concerned her at all or did she think it was such a remote possibility that it was worth taking the chance?

"You've been with your Peeta for sixteen years now" muses Mother. "The same amount of years I had with your father. Looking back those years went by so incredibly fast."

She's been a widow now for more than twenty years and I can't even imagine it. I understand her reaction to my father's death better since I built a life with the man I love but I haven't forgiven her for it. Still I can't even imagine having to wake up in the morning and know that it's been more than twenty years since you last saw your spouse. I haven't gone twenty days, or even twenty hours, without seeing Peeta since we've been married.

"Do you still miss him?" I ask.

"Every day. It doesn't really get much easier with time, just... different."

"Like with Prim" I say but again she ignores the mention of my sister.

"I've often wondered what he would have thought and said if he could have seen you during those years with the Games and the war. He would have been proud of you. He would have liked Peeta. And he would be so happy to be a grandfather."

I would like to ask her more about what she thinks my father would have said and done if he were here and ask her more about her life with him. I have vivid memories of my parents being in love and happy but I want to know more about the things you don't see as a child. Things like how they met and fell in love, what their courtship was like, what her favourite memories of him were, what kind of things they liked to do together before they had me. Before I can ask her the kitchen door opens and Peeta returns. He walks into the living room with cheeks red from the cold and a bright smile on his face.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

Mother nods and gets up on her feet. Peeta walks over and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

"I'll be home in about an hour" he tells me. "Keep me company later while I frost Jake and Lucy's wedding cake?" He turns to my mother. "The pharmacist's eldest and her fiancé. They want snowflakes on their wedding cake. Seems to me that all the snowflakes you'll need for a January wedding are right outside the door but it's their wedding and their call."

A few minutes later they are out the door and I'm alone with my book. I put it away after just a few minutes. It's difficult to concentrate on it right now. I keep wondering about the happy moments my parents got together. For my father's sake I hope they were  _very_  happy. If you only get to live thirty-five years you should get to have as much happiness as possible in that time.

A small smile plays on my lips while I caress the bump on my stomach. My poor baby is going to grow up hearing so many stories of what his or her parents did during the Games and during the war. I decide that I will tell my child a lot of stories of the times when Peeta and I were happy and there was peace and safety. I lean back and make myself comfortable, letting my mind drift back to some of my favourite memories.

 

 

Our first summer together I decide to bring Peeta out to the lake. It's the middle of July and almost too hot to be outdoors and the idea of going swimming has been on my mind for days. Peeta doesn't object to the idea and we set out early, before the heat is too overbearing.

We walk together through the woods, me teasing him about all the noise he is making. I feel a little nervous as we get closer. Peeta has never been out to the lake before and I want him to like it. Not just appreciate the cool water on a hot day but really love it the way I do. I haven't told him much about it and I decide not to tell him how special that place is to me until I've seen his reaction. I want to know how he genuinely feels about the location and not have him pretend to like it more than he does just to please me.

It turns out I have no reason to worry. Once we step out into the glade I hear him whistle appreciatively. I turn and study his face and smile a little when I see that he's absorbing everything around him, admiring every detail. His eyes are those of an artist imagining how he's going to recreate it all on canvas later, already deciding which colours and brushes to use. I wait for him to say something and eventually his eyes meet mine and he speaks.

"Why haven't you brought me here before? It's lovely."

"I was hoping you'd like it."

"Of course I like it." His eyes leave mine and travel back to the lake. "Look at how blank that surface is. It's like a mirror." He looks at me again. "Is the water deep?"

"Deep enough. Still remember how to swim?"

"I may have to stick to splashing about in the shallow end" grins Peeta sheepishly.

I shake my head in mock consternation.

"The baker's boy survives an arena built around water and he still doesn't know how to swim. It's alarming, really."

"I also don't know how to shoot something with a bow, stalk a prey without making a lot of noise or weave carpets out of vines" he offers with a smirk.

"I've got a lot to teach you" I say and give him a quick kiss. "How about tree climbing?"

"I prefer staying on solid ground, thank you."

"Oh come on" I say, walking up to a nearby tree that I know from experience is easy to climb. "It's a good skill to have; you've seen that firsthand."

"Yeah, and I hope never to be in a situation like that ever again."

"It's not that hard." I grab a sturdy branch. "All you really need to do is learn where you can grab hold and where you can put your weight. Like this."

"You know, Katniss, I don't think a prosthetic leg makes for good equipment when you're trying to learn how to climb a tree. I don't exactly have good grip with my left."

"You're just making excuses."

"Valid excuses."

I climb until I reach a thick branch about seven feet up and swing my leg so that I'm straddling it. Peeta is more focused on the view of the lake than on me and certainly isn't making any moves to climb up after me.

"You might enjoy the view more from up here" I try.

He turns his head to look at me and smirks.

"I'm enjoying the view just fine, thank you."

With a chuckle I lean forward and grab the thick branch, swinging myself around so that I'm hanging under it, holding on with my legs and arms. I tilt my head upward, though it's actually downward from this angle, and watch my boyfriend who is now upside down. He laughs a little and shakes his head at me.

"You're crazy, do you know that?" asks Peeta.

"Yeah? And what are you?"

"Probably crazy too."

"Could be so" I smile. "Come here, baker boy." He steps closer but stops a few feet away. "Give me a kiss."

He walks up to me and obliges. I'm far up enough that he has to tilt his face upward to meet my lips with his. The kiss turns out to be less lovely than I pictured it in my head when I gave him the encouragement. Kissing with one person hanging upside down proves to be something of a logistical difficulty. We make it work but it doesn't quite live up to kissing the normal way and he pulls back after a couple of seconds.

"You  _are_  crazy" chuckles Peeta.

"Hang on, let me get down from here" I say, suddenly feeling done with tree climbing. "Take a step back so I don't hurt you."

I hear the rustle of grass as he backs away and my legs unwrap from the tree branch, sending me swinging down towards the ground. I'm still holding on by my arms and preparing to make as soft a fall to the grass below as possible when Peeta walks around me and captures my face between his palms, giving me a kiss.

Almost on instinct my legs wrap around him and he responds by moving his hands to wrap his arms around me. I let go of the branch and sink into his embrace, my arms wrapping around him in return. The kiss is one of the loveliest I have ever experienced and I wish it would never end but before long we both have to come up for air. Plus, we're starting to get a bit wobbly.

The smile Peeta gives me when he sets me down on the ground is nothing short of breathtaking. I give a little laugh and brush a curl of his blonde hair from his brow.

"Was that your way of telling me you'll catch me when I fall?" I ask jokingly.

"You weren't about to fall" replies Peeta, still with that smile on his face. "It was just my way of saying if you insist on climbing trees I'll kiss you when you come down from them."

"Mmm" I say. "I like it."

"Are you as hot as I am?"

"Hotter."

"Great. How about that swim, then?"

The next thing I know his arms are no longer around me and he's on his way down to the lake, pulling his t-shirt over his head. I quickly follow him, letting my clothes lie where they fall while Peeta folds his neatly and leaves them next to the bag I brought. He takes a few steps into the lake and then backs up again so quickly that he almost stumbles. I wrap my arms around him from behind and press a kiss against his cheek.

"Cold?"

"Yeah. More than I expected."

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it real fast." I chuckle into his ear. "And if you don't I will be more than happy to help warm you up when we're done swimming."

"How can it be so cold?" muses Peeta as if he doesn't hear me. "It's a lake in July. Shouldn't it have heated up?"

"Come on" I say and walk past him, taking his hand in mine and leading him further into the water. "You just have to get accustomed to the temperature. It will be worth it. I promise."

He looks sceptical and yelps a little before I get him fully submerged in the water. He comes back up spluttering and shaking his head, sending water flying everywhere. Then he grins at me.

"I might freeze to death but if I don't I must admit this is rather nice. It feels good to wash the sweat off me after that long hike to get here."

"Come" I say. "Let's go for a  _real_  swim."

Peeta doesn't want to go too far out, which I can understand. He's not an experienced swimmer and it's been a while since he last gave it a try. Truthfully I don't want him to go too far out either because I don't know how I would get him back to shore if I needed to.

After the first ten minutes he moves back to where the water only reaches to his shoulders. I follow him and swim in a circle around him and he splashes water at me. I shriek and turn to grab him but to my surprise he dives forward, disappears under the surface and manages a few strokes before he appears again about fifteen feet away from me.

"Coward!" I yell after him.

"Hey you're the one who wanted to be surrounded by water."

I give him a playful scowl and swim up to him. We play around a little in the shallower water until we're both shivering and then we head back up on dry land. I arrange the large blanket we brought and we lay down on it, both of us still shivering. It takes a few minutes for the hot sun to warm us up but it's not long before we're both dry. I roll over and rest my upper body on his chest.

"Having a good time?" I ask.

"I am... Except I dread the long walk home."

I mull it over. Peeta's fingers begin to comb through my wet hair and then run through my scalp, gently massaging it.

"Maybe we can stay here for the night" I suggest. "The cabin is shelter enough. We can walk back in the morning."

"We don't have anything to eat for dinner. You didn't bring any hunting gear."

"I could go check some nearby snares." I look up at him and smile. "Would you like to stay the night? Sleep in the house, or maybe under the stars even?"

He smiles softly at me.

"I wouldn't mind."

"Then it's settled" I smile.

We stay on the blanket for a while, then I get up and get dressed to go check my snares. When I come back an hour later Peeta is on his stomach sleeping and I let him rest while I go inside the house and make sure it's in proper order. It's about two hours before sunset when I'm done and I'm starting to get hungry. I walk back outside and find that Peeta is awake. He's on his side, propped up against his elbow. He's still naked and the sight reminds me of another hunger I've been feeling for the past few hours and haven't gotten to satiate. By the look in my eyes and the smile on my face he can tell what's on my mind as I walk over to him and I see him responding.

 

 

About a week after Peeta's twenty-fourth birthday our furnace breaks. It's the middle of winter and several degrees below freezing outside. I wake up in the middle of the night, shivering slightly under the thick, warm comforter, wondering why it's so cold. With my elbow I give Peeta a nudge and hear him groan as he wakes up.

"Close the window" I mutter, keeping my eyes closed. "It's freezing in here."

"I'm fine" claims Peeta. "You close it."

Angrily I give him another nudge.

"You're the one who opened it!"

He grunts and groans in protest but I feel his warm body leave mine and get out of bed, a chill of cold wind seeming to seep in underneath the covers when he lifts them to get out. I hear him curse under his breath and hurry over to close the two windows he opened before we went to bed. I'm feeling cranky and cold and while still keeping my eyes closed I whine to him to hurry up and get back into bed because I'm even colder without him.

"This is not just the outdoor air" he says and crawls back underneath the covers. He wraps himself around me and I yelp, feeling how cold he is from just being out of bed for a minute or two. "The radiators are both ice cold."

"So fix them" I complain.

"At this hour? I'm going back to sleep."

With a groan I turn around in his arms and curl up closer to him, letting my nose rest by his collarbone and inhaling deep. He's shivering slightly and I wrap my leg around him and press him closer, trying to give him some of my body heat.

"I think I'm going to go put on a pyjamas" he says.

"No" I complain. "Don't get out of bed again. Roll over on your back."

He obliges and I move to lie on top of him, giving him as much of my heat as I can until he's warmed back up again. I fall asleep like that and don't notice him gently turning us over on our sides. When I wake up the room is even colder and the only thing that sticks up over the comforter are our heads from the noses up. Peeta is awake, sporting a troubled expression on his face.

"I really think the furnace has broken" he says after pulling the comforter down from his mouth. "In the middle of the coldest part of January, to boot. Just our damn luck."

"Can you fix it?"

"I don't know."

"Can we call a repair guy? What day of the week is it?"

"Saturday" sighs Peeta. "The repairmen only work Monday through Friday. Guess we're stuck like this all weekend."

"Are you kidding me?" I ask, sitting myself up a little but immediately getting back down when I feel how cold it really is.

"Unless you know how to fix the furnace?" he says hopefully.

"I can't even fix the damn TV when it's broken" I sigh.

"You mean when the remote is out of batteries?"

We lay there for a while in silence. Both of us need to use the bathroom but neither one of us finds the idea of getting out of bed for any reason appealing. My stomach growls loudly and then Peeta bolts out of bed and hurries to the bathroom to get our robes. He comes back with them in his arms and shoves them under the comforter at the foot of the bed.

"We have no hot water" he tells me.

"Perfect" I scowl.

He gets back under the covers and I wrap myself around him to warm him back up.

"I thought once our robes have gained some warmth we could put them on and venture downstairs to get a fire going and have something to eat" he says. "While we're downstairs we can put clothes under the comforter and get them warmer."

"You think of everything" I smile and place a kiss on his collarbone.

"I just don't understand how the furnace could break."

"I'm not going to bother speculating" I say. "I remember a couple of times in the Seam when we had no electric heating in the dead of winter."

"Yeah that happened to us merchants too" says Peeta. "Mother always made sure to keep the fire going but I'm worried the fireplace downstairs won't be enough to heat this whole house."

"Probably not" I say. "When did we get so reliant on Capitol technology?"

We stay under the covers for half an hour. Then I get our robes for us and we put them on and on the count of three get out of bed into the cold air. Peeta hurries downstairs to get the fire going and cook us some breakfast while I gather clothes and shove them under the comforter. In the closet I find the thick slippers reaching halfway to our knees. They were a gift from my mother and I quickly put my pair on, feeling a bit better when my toes aren't freezing. With Peeta's slippers in my hand I go down the stairs and cast a longing look at the fire burning in the living room.

"An omelette okay?" asks Peeta from the kitchen.

"Sounds good" I tell him. I walk to the dresser by the front door and pick out hats, scarves and gloves. I bring it all to the kitchen and hand Peeta a set of each along with the slippers. We eat our omelettes in front of the fireplace which isn't generating much heat yet but it's better than sitting in the kitchen. We can see our own breathes with each exhale and I long to be back upstairs under the comforter.

We leave the dirty dishes in the sink and head back upstairs. We crawl back into bed and discard robes, slippers, gloves and everything else once underneath the covers. By now there's a big pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Peeta finds a thick blanket and puts it over the comforter to help warm us up.

While we were having breakfast we decided that once we were back in bed we would have sex to get warmed up. I reluctantly discard my nightgown, figuring I will give Peeta more of my body heat through direct skin to skin contact, and reach for him. His mouth feels hot against mine, his fingers have their normal temperature thanks to the gloves he wore and our ministrations soon heat up our bodies. Peeta climbs on top of me and keeps his body pressed to mine, moving agonizingly slow inside of me to draw it out for as long as possible. I wrap my legs around his waist, kiss him heatedly and almost forget that the air around us is crispy cold when pleasure overwhelms me. I make him stay on top of me, inside of me, when it's over, hoping to soak up as much of his warmth as I possibly can. When he finally rolls off me I miss the heat of his body and wrap my arm around him.

"So..." Peeta says after a few minutes. "What do you want to do today? I'm not wild about you going out hunting when you can't get warmed up back home later."

"I'd rather not do much of anything" I answer. "It's too cold for that. Let's just stay warm."

He ponders it for a few minutes, then sighs.

"I'm tired of lying in bed. I'm going downstairs. It's probably warmer in front of the fireplace anyway."

I most definitely do not want to get out of bed but once I lose his body next to mine I decide that I'm going to follow him downstairs anyway. I put on as much clothes as I can and leave everything else under the comforter. I walk downstairs and find that Peeta has gathered two blankets and the comforter from the downstairs bedroom. It doesn't have any sheets on it and he hasn't bothered getting any. He looks up and smiles when he sees me. I'm guessing he counted on me following him downstairs because he's arranged a little nest for us in front of the fireplace. The coffee table has been pushed back, the thick bearskin rug has been pulled up in front of the fireplace and there are four large pillows. I also note that he's got a sketchpad and some pencils in various colours and that the book I've been reading is on one of the pillows.

"Took you long enough" he teases.

"Thought it was best to wait until you'd done the lion's share of the work" I smirk in reply.

We coop up together in his little nest in front of the fire. Pretty soon it gets so warm that all my layers of clothes are bothering me and I strip out of them. Peeta rewards me by giving immediate attention to my shoulders, my breast, my stomach. I lay back on the soft rug and find myself completely naked and uncovered while my husband's mouth works between my legs. I'm a little chilly like that but the things he's doing makes me so hot and bothered that I don't even notice.

Pretty soon Peeta is out of his clothes, too. I read my book and he sketches. It's calm and quiet and lovely. When it's time for lunch I get up and wrap my robe around me, ordering Peeta to stay put. In the kitchen I make us a salad including some wild rice, the cooked meat off a pair of wild turkey wings and an apple that I slice up and add to the mix. We eat it together by the fireplace and Peeta wolves down the food much faster than I do. When he's done he lies back and rests his head on his hands, sighing contently. His whole upper body is uncovered and on an impulse I reach for more of the salad, scoop it up with the wooden spoon and place it on him instead of my plate. The look of surprise on his face makes me laugh and I have to try my best not to tickle him while I continue with my meal. By the time I'm done I'm a little too full to want to have sex right away so I take my sweet time kissing him and touching him until he can't take it anymore. He flips me over on my stomach and groans loudly into my ear while he moves on top of me.

We continue like that for the rest of the day. We take short naps, talk about everything and nothing, make love, play games, I read, Peeta draws. By the time it's late and we should be heading upstairs to bed we're lying side by side, face to face, smiling at each other. It's been about fifteen minutes without either one of us speaking, just looking into each other's eyes.

"Today has been a good day" I say.

"Really good day" agrees Peeta.

"Tomorrow is going to be the same. We won't have the furnace fixed until Monday."

"Mmm..." says Peeta, running a hand up and down my side. "Can't wait for tomorrow."

"It's so rare that we get days like these" I muse. "Even when there's a snowstorm we can still use the whole house. I kind of liked being cooped up with you in one place."

"It's been really nice" he agrees.

We kiss hungrily, then we put our clothes back on and head upstairs where the air is much colder. We crawl into bed and hold each other tight, talking a bit more about what a great day we've had and how tomorrow is going to be just as nice.

When we wake up the next morning there's frost on the comforter and we're both ice cold. I long for a nice hot shower, or even better, a bath. We share a look and without a word get dressed in whatever clothes we can find at the foot of the bed. We then head over to Haymitch to escape our own house until we can get the heat fixed.

 

 

When the time comes for the tenth anniversary of the third Quarter Quell us surviving victors gather together. Haymitch has made it clear to Plutarch that none of us will agree to partake in any form of publicized event and that we're all just going to try and forget. Instead we make plans to meet up and remember those we've lost and those who mattered most to us. Enobaria doesn't want to participate but the rest of us come together in Former 4 where Annie Odair lives with her nine year-old boy Crest. The child doesn't look much like his father, more like a male version of Annie, and I find that oddly disappointing. I had found comfort in knowing that part of Finnick lives on and even if that's still true it seems more fitting for his son to resemble him than the mother who still lives.

Annie is still a wreck of a woman and can't take care of her son all by herself. Her older sister Molly lives with her and helps take care of Crest. They have a large house by the beach, part of the district's old Victors' Village, and when I first set my foot there it takes my breath away. The deck on the back of the house leads down to a small lawn that fades into a long, beautiful beach that reaches as far as the eye can see in either direction. Seagulls fly in the air, the waves come rolling in steadily and the scent of sand and saltwater fills my nose. I should fear that smell because the only time I've experienced it in the past was in the arena but I can't help but like it. Odd as it is there are memories connected to sand and seawater that I cherish. Most of all there's the memory of kissing Peeta on the beach.

For months I have been dreading this occasion, fearful of the ghosts that might appear and the resurfacing of memories I would rather bury forever. Now that I'm here I find it's not entirely as bad as I had anticipated. All of my fellow victors feel something similar to what I'm feeling and we don't need to talk much amongst ourselves. We share the same memories of the final quell anyway. The first day we don't mention the Hunger Games at all. I take a long walk with Johanna and Annie and we come back to the house to find that Peeta, Haymitch and Beetee are immersed in a long, complicated board game. They stay glued by the kitchen table throughout the evening and when I'm tired and want to head to bed Peeta barely acknowledges my hands caressing his shoulders or my soft whisper in his ear. He's fully focused on what his next move should be and mumbles something unintelligible in response. I shake my head with a smile and hear Johanna snort something about the hopelessness of men and we both head up the stairs to find our guest bedrooms.

The next day, the anniversary of the day when the Quell began, the sun is shining brightly from a clear blue sky. Peeta, Johanna, Annie and I spend the entire day out on the beach with Crest while Haymitch and Beetee stay on the porch and claim to get exhausted just from watching us. Peeta competes with Crest over who can build the best sandcastle, I play with the boy in the waves and Johanna races with him along the beach. After we've had lunch I get Peeta to follow me out into the water and we play around for a bit in the waves together. When we go back ashore Peeta notes that I have both sand and seaweed in my hair and makes a braid with the seaweed still tangled in there.

Johanna and Annie cook dinner. Peeta bakes bread. Beetee sets the table out on the back porch and together the six of us share a long and nice dinner while the sun is still up. Molly has taken Crest to his grandparents so that we adults can have some time to ourselves tonight. With our bellies pleasantly full and a bit of alcohol in our systems we sit there together in silence, watching the sun slowly begin to set. After a while Annie becomes the first to speak.

"I remember it so well" she says distantly. "How Finnick looked when he came up from the water. His smile. How handsome he was."

"I remember having to resist the impulse to duck whenever he wielded that trident" says Johanna. "Even when I knew he was on my side and aiming it at somebody else."

"He was skilled with that thing" nods Peeta. "I remember when him and me and Katniss and Mags fled through the jungle with that toxic fog chasing us."

There's a moment of silence when everybody seems to be holding their breath. It's the first real mention of the Quarter Quell.

"Dear old Mags" says Beetee finally. "I remember hearing stories of when she was in her thirties or so and played practical jokes on other mentors."

"What?" I say. This is the first I've heard of this.

"Not just the mentors" smiles Haymitch. "She once managed to hide a small fish in Caesar Flickerman's hair. Don't ask me how she did it but he was mighty angry when he started to smell of rotting nickleback."

This sparks a long conversation about the Quell, the victors, tributes we remember. It's a horrifying walk down memory lane but it's also sometimes nice. It feels good to still remember these people and cherish the lives that they had and I find myself wishing we were writing it all down for the book. It's just frightening to think of so much loss and so many horrors inflicted upon people by the government. I barely notice that my hand slips into Peeta's but once I become aware of his fingers intertwined with mine I don't want to let go for anything in the world. We are still unique, him and me. The only tributes who survived an arena with our district partner, twice even. The more we talk about people who died the more I become overwhelmed with how easily his life could have been lost in either one of those two arenas and the thought nearly suffocates me.

Eventually the conversation dies out. By that time the sun has set and the sky is dark and full of stars. A crescent moon shines from above, crickets can be heard chirping from someplace nearby and the smell of the sea seems more prominent at this hour. It's getting a little chilly and Johanna yawns and wraps her cardigan closer around her upper body.

"I think I'm going to head to bed" she announces.

"I think I'm going to find a bottle" murmurs Haymitch.

One by one the others get up and leave. Eventually Peeta and I are alone out on the porch, staring out on the water, listening to the sound of the waves breaking. I'm a little bit cold but not enough to make me want to get up and walk back inside. Peeta's hand is still in mine and I want to keep it there.

"I'm so grateful you didn't die" I tell him.

"Yeah I know" he answers and I know he feels the same about me.

"Ten years... I can't believe it's been a decade."

"A whole decade of no Hunger Games" says Peeta, which was the last thing on my mind but of course he is right. "I think it's worth celebrating. You know, children now they don't fully understand the Hunger Games. They've heard about them from their parents and at school but they don't comprehend what it really was. In a way that's both... relieving and alarming."

"How is it alarming?"

"When people forget about the horrors that is when the horrors can happen again. I don't like that they tell all these stories still about the courageous victors and the star-crossed lovers who defied the odds and the moments of great triumph. It glorifies the whole thing. There were no triumphs. People are supposed to remember the Hunger Games and feel a shudder down their spine and swear that something like that can never ever happen again. Not look back and talk about how exciting they were or how... Kids nowadays should fear the Hunger Games just like we did."

I sit there in silence, not knowing what to say. Peeta doesn't say anything else either and after a while we both get up and walk back inside the house.

 

 

A few days later Peeta and I take a walk along the beach after dinner. The following day we will be going back home to Twelve. I feel reluctant to leave. I've fallen in love with Former District 4, its sandy beaches, friendly people and beautiful palm trees. There's a serenity to this place that I think comes from the ocean and it's almost as if I can understand Finnick better after having been here. The things that shaped him, the things he fought for. I wish he could have lived to see his son grow up. Crest deserves to have his father around and Annie deserves to have her husband with her. In a way I think Crest saved Annie's life just as Finnick once did. They both gave her a reason to go on, something to love and cling to. If she hadn't gotten pregnant after the wedding I think she might have just given up entirely and eventually just faded away and died. She was never very strong, not after her Games anyway. Finnick held her up and held her together and I think she actually did the same for him, albeit in a different way.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Peeta when I've been quiet for almost ten minutes.

"Annie and her son."

A smile spreads across Peeta's face.

"He's pretty great. He doesn't look much like his father but there's a lot of Finnick in him anyway. Something about him just... reminds me of Finnick."

I nod slightly. We don't say anything else for a few minutes. We come to the spot where the beach briefly gives way to rock formations and we both stop, knowing we shouldn't go further. The sun has begun to set and I take both of Peeta's hands in mine and stare out over the ocean. Hues of pink and yellow and orange begin to fill the sky and it's nearly impossible to tell where the waterline ends and the sky begins. There's such beauty in this place. It's almost hard to believe that any area with beaches and oceans like this could ever be controlled by the Capitol the way it used to be. I guess that's how District 4 came to be a career district. The Capitol couldn't control them quite the same way they did with the other districts so they formed a special relationship with them instead.

I think of how my mother lives here now and I wonder if she enjoys watching the sun set over the ocean. Maybe she never even sees it. I don't know how wrapped up she is in her grief these days. I only speak to her a few times a year and I haven't even told her I'm here in the district.

"There's a memory I keep coming back to" says Peeta. "Never really sure what is real of it and what is not real. It's been... ten years, so it's no wonder that the memories aren't entirely clear, I guess."

I know exactly what memory he is referring to. To me that memory is crystal clear even now and it hurts that he doesn't remember it as well as I do. That the Capitol took that memory from him, from us, and warped it.

"It's been ten years to the day" I tell him. My eyes leave the sunset and rest on him. He looks back at me and even now I can remember the way he looked at me that time, ten years ago. "I'll never forget it. I never knew feelings like that could exist in the Hunger Games."

Peeta's hand leaves mine and caresses my cheek. I smile slightly at him. Then he steps closer, takes my face between his palms and kisses me lovingly. I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him back, remembering everything I felt a decade ago and how new and unfamiliar those feelings were. Now they're part of my everyday life but I know better than to take them for granted. I pull Peeta closer, kiss him again and again and again and somewhere in the back of my mind fear the sound of thunder cracking to interrupt us.

Peeta pulls away and smiles at me.

"I'm going for a swim."

He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his sandals. I follow suit and within a minute we're both in the water, letting the waves crash over us. I grab him by the shoulders, wrap my legs around his waist and laugh as he tries to spin around without losing his footing. I kiss him hungrily and he reciprocates. Our hands begin to wander over each other's bodies and the kisses grow deeper and hungrier. We can't find a suitable position in the water so I unwrap my legs and lead him back up to shore. The thought of getting down on the sand just by the waterline passes through my mind but I immediately discard it. Too much sand and seaweed. I ransack my mind trying to think of some way we can make love here without being too uncomfortable or ending up with sand everywhere but I can't think of anything. Peeta lifts me up, carries me over to one of the large rocks and sets me down there. It's not as romantic as the sandy beach but as I pull him close and rest my cheek against his I have a wonderful view of the setting sun. The orange tones of sunset always make me think of Peeta and right now I'm overcome with memories of that other night on that other beach and the feelings that should have no place in the Hunger Games yet surfaced anyway. I wrap both my legs around my husband and draw him closer, so full of love for him and of gratitude that he's still alive and with me that the experience nearly overwhelms me. I don't even care if anyone should come walking along the beach and see us. I need him right now, need this moment with him. I need to feel that he is here.

Afterward we get dressed again and sit on the dunes of sand, watching the last moments of the sunset. I lean my head against Peeta's shoulders and he wraps an arm around me.

"They should have gotten to have years on end of this" I say ruefully. "Annie and Finnick."

Peeta nods but doesn't say anything. There isn't much to say. We stay like this for about ten minutes after the sun has set but then we're both shivering and we decide to head back. We reach the house a little while later and immediately get ribs from Johanna about having gone for an innocent stroll and returning all wet. Peeta just gives her a kiss on the cheek and walks past her inside the house.

When I wake up that night I think I hear the sounds of Annie crying. Feeling a shiver run through me I move closer to Peeta and close my eyes hard, thanking my lucky stars once more that he survived the war and came back to me.

 

 

A kiss wakes me up and I frown as I stir from slumber. My eyes open to find Peeta's smiling at me. The whole house is quiet and for a split second I'm not sure where I am or when I even fell asleep. Then a strong kick in my midsection reminds me that I was relaxing on the couch and that I must have drifted off because my unborn baby kept me up half the night.

"I couldn't make up my mind whether or not to wake you up" smiles Peeta. "I've been home a little over an hour and you've been asleep the whole time. I'm worried you won't be able to sleep at all tonight if you don't get up now. Plus, there's frosting to be had."

A smile spreads across my face.

"I dreamt about you" I tell him.

"Only good things, I hope."

I take his outreached hand and let him help me pull myself up on my feet. I probably shouldn't let him help me like that or he might throw his back but I'm too tired of being big and bloated and pregnant to worry about it. I waddle after him to the kitchen where he has begun to decorate the wedding cake. It's got two layers and the top one is almost finished while the bottom one is about halfway done. I sit down on a barstool with a huff and greedily reach for the bowl of leftover frosting, scooping up a big spoonful and shoving it in my mouth.

"I was thinking I'd make a circle of peonies on the bottom layer" says Peeta. "According to Jake they're Lucy's favourite flowers."

I shrug.

"All flowers you make look nice."

"Thank you, dear. That's a very nice, wifely thing to say."

"I am nice and wifely."

"That's what I said."

I watch him work on the cake with a concentrated look on his face while I slowly eat the frosting. Once the sugar enters my system it seems to rile up the baby who begins to kick actively. I groan when he or she hits a rib and place a hand on my stomach.

"Ugh, part of me can't wait for when all this is over" I groan.

Peeta glances up from the cake and smiles.

"I still think pregnancy is very flattering on you."

"You're just excited to be a father" I counter. "It wouldn't matter to you if I looked like a sea lion; you'd still think it was exciting and fabulous."

"I guess we'll never know, will we? You look maternal. Womanly. Right now you're literally the two people I love the most in the world."

I roll my eyes and set the now empty bowl down. I never know how to respond when he says things like that. I settle for resting my chin in my hand and watching him work. I can't help but think of what my mother said before and how she was once in the same position I am in now.

"Peeta" I say. "You know, when my father died he was only two years older than you are now."

Peeta looks up from his work again.

"Well that brought my spirits down."

"It just seems so..." When I can't think of the right word I shrug. "We've been together almost half my life and it still feels like we've barely had any time together at all. I think of Annie and Finnick and their son..."

"Katniss at some point you're going to have to stop worrying that I or someone else you love is going to die" says Peeta. "I mean, we're all  _going_  to die, but it's probably going to be when we're in our old age and we have grandkids and I'm walking around with a cane and you've lost your hearing and keep yelling at me all the time because you think  _I_ ' _m_  not listening to  _you_."

"That's... a very specific vision of the future."

"My point is you can't live all your life worrying that I'm going to die or that the baby is going to be hurt. You're going to be stuck with us both way past the point when you're sick of us."

"Are you ever going to get sick of me?" I retort.

"Are you kidding? I still wake up every day feeling the desire to pinch myself and make sure I'm not dreaming and you're really there next to me."

"Why do you always have to say things like that and make me seem so unromantic and unfeeling?" I complain.

"You're not unromantic or unfeeling" he says calmly. "You just don't express yourself the way I do."

"How do I express myself that makes me come across as romantic or feeling?" I ask sullenly.

"How about when you curl up on my lap and purr like a kitten?" smirks Peeta. "Or when you massage my good leg without me having to ask you to? Or how you get a worried look on your face whenever I hurt myself, even if it's just getting a small burn from the oven? You're plenty romantic, Katniss."

"I do not purr like a kitten" I sulk.

"Sometimes you hiss like a wild cat" grins Peeta teasingly and places the last of the tiny marzipan flowers on the cake. "Truthfully Katniss I don't know how you can think of yourself as unfeeling or unromantic when you're giving me the best gift a wife can give a husband." He walks up to me, places a careful hand on my stomach and leans in to give me a kiss. "I love you both. Like absolute crazy."

"We love you too" I assure him and pull him closer for another kiss. I run my left hand through his hair, half expecting my wedding ring to get caught in his curls the way it is so prone to doing but then I remember I'm not wearing it. My fingers are too swollen. These days I keep the ring in my pocket, the way I used to keep the pearl Peeta gave me in the arena.

"I'm glad our child will be growing up in a loving home" smiles Peeta and places a kiss on the tip of my nose.

"It definitely will" I reply and lean in for another kiss. I feel a strong kick that feels like it lands smack on my ribs. With a pained groan I pull back and place my hand on my stomach, right next to Peeta's, hoping in vain that it will calm the baby inside me. "Damn this baby kicks hard" I wince.

"It's a survivor in there, for sure" smiles Peeta. He goes back to focusing on the cake and makes a tiny little leaf out of green marzipan. "You're not going to get rid of either one of us, try as you might. Better get used to the idea that we'll be around forever."

"I hope so" is all I manage to answer. "Peeta, sometimes I worry that because I've been happier than I ought to the universe is going to punish me for it."

"If you ask me you've been nowhere near as happy as you deserve to be" counters Peeta. "You should be smiling happily every day of your life and have a husband who doesn't get flashbacks that makes him think you're a mutt to be strangled."

"I don't want anybody else but you" I tell him softly. "Whatever happiness I have known it's all thanks to you."

He walks back to me and wraps his arms around me from the side, allowing me to lean my head against his chest. He holds me like that for what feels like hours, until I begin to feel better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what kind of relationship I really think Katniss and her mother had after the third book. They do talk on the phone and seem fairly close at the end but at the same time her mother did choose to stay away from the district which her only living daughter couldn't leave. At least for the purpose of this story I decided they wouldn't have a very solid relationship.


	9. Prim

 

 

 

The pain washes over me like nothing I have ever felt before, grabbing a hold and gnawing into me, tighter and tighter. I'm barely aware of the screams passing my lips, the sweat running down my face or even the fact that my eyes are closed shut. All that exists is the pain and when it finally releases its grip I know it won't be many moments before it's back again, a fact that makes me truly afraid. I also know that I haven't even reached the worst part yet. For the first time I can remember I am actually starting to believe that I will die from pain.

"It's okay, Katniss" my mother's voice tells me. "Just breathe."

Easy for her to say it's okay. Though I am aware that she has done this twice herself her words are in no way calming or supporting. I manage to open my eyes and scowl at Peeta who comes walking into the room carrying a tray of things I'd rather not know about. It was Mother who sent him out of the room to get these things for her but I feel betrayed that he left my side. Then the feeling goes away as he sets the tray down and sits down next to me, taking my sweaty hand in his and wiping a few strands of hair away from my face.

"I'm here" he says.

In District 12 before the war it was not considered appropriate for fathers to be present during childbirth. In the Capitol they usually were but then again in the Capitol it was rarely a long, drawn-out, painful and messy affair. In the glory days of the old regime the women in the Capitol had access to drugs that made the whole process completely free of pain and they could simply recline in a comfortable bed and watch television for a few hours until the baby came. Some chose to have C-sections to better fit their busy schedules, the scars instantly removed so that the mother would not have to bear any tarnishing marks of the procedure. No such luxuries were available to the women of the districts, at least not the poorer ones, so our mothers and their mothers before them had no option other than to grit their teeth and bear it. Husbands and children were usually ushered out until the newest family member had made their appearance.

I knew from the moment my own labour began, somewhere around sixteen or seventeen hours ago, that this would not be the case in the Mellark house. We have never discussed it, Peeta and I, but I realized once the process began that the reason why is that we never needed to. We both know he's not going anywhere. He's staying with me through all of this. That's what we do, him and I. Support each other through the most difficult times in life.

A new wave of pain hits me and I squeeze my eyes shut again, squeezing down on Peeta's hand in the process. I cannot believe how badly this hurts, that there are levels of physical pain I had not yet experienced. Somewhere in the back of my mind a memory echoes of Haymitch's last words to me, spoken only hours ago but it feels like it's been months. The contractions started not long before lunch and he had managed to come waltzing through the door in search of food just as a contraction hit me that was strong enough to make me realize that this was the real deal. While Peeta and my mother were busy flocking around me with more questions than I felt like answering Haymitch had only cocked his neck and smirked at me as he bent over to pick up a loaf of bread to bring back home.

"Don't give me that face, sweetheart" he said with an almost bored tone. "This can hardly be a challenge for  _you_."

He had no trouble evading the apple I rather feebly but very furiously sent flying in his direction but I looked up and met his eyes as he was heading out the door and I knew what he was trying to say. Every mother in the world has gone through what I was about to go through – save those in the former Capitol of course. Very few women have survived  _two_  rounds in the arena. I have an edge.

That edge does not seem very clear at the moment as I am seriously starting to  _hope_  for death rather than feel concerned about it. Each time the pain comes over me it seems to last longer and with greater intensity but it's been a while now since Mother last told me I had made progress. The thought of women whose labour pains last for days crosses my mind and I wonder how they survive it when I am ready to give up after sixteen hours, and I have always credited myself with having a very strong will to survive.

The pain goes away again but I get only a small window of relief before yet another wave crashes over me. This time it brings a whole new level of atrocity as I can feel the baby moving downward and for some reason I get acutely and viciously nauseous. Completely unprepared, though I really should be considering the nausea never really let up during the past nine months, I turn my head in the direction I'm half-sure Peeta is not, lean over as far as I can and empty whatever is left in my stomach onto the floor.

"Ugh, I  _hate this_!" I manage to scream.

"Katniss" says Mother, unconcerned with my vomiting. "Katniss. It will soon be time to push. I need you to stay focused. You're doing great."

I don't believe her for a second on either account. It will never be time to push judging by the experience thus far and I am doing anything but great. But sure enough, within a few minutes the labour pains change in nature and as much as I want to resist it the urge to push overcomes me. I reach blindly for Peeta's hands, wondering when he let go or if it was perhaps I who did, needing something to tether me, to help get me through this. The pain is almost constant now, holding up only for short moments as if to allow me to come up for air, but the feeling of something huge being pushed out of my body at an excruciatingly slow pace makes the whole thing unbearable.

"Katniss" my mother's voice says, this time more firmly than before. "You need to focus and you need to push. I know it hurts. I know it's difficult. Think of who you are doing this for. Your baby will be in your arms real soon now, I promise."

Her words do manage to get through to me and when the wave of pain draws back for a moment I open my eyes and focus everything on thinking about the person I am doing this for. It is not who my mother thinks it is. It's not the baby. It's him. I'm doing it for Peeta. All of it has been for his sake, to make him happy. I'm fairly sure I can't do this for myself and I haven't the faintest idea if I can do it for the baby but I know I can do it for him.

His eyes meet with mine and I feel a bit of his strength pass on to me. He looks so calm and collected and I wonder how in the world he manages that. If it were me seeing him in this kind of pain I would be even a worse mess than I am right now. The pain washes over me again and I repeat his name in my head over and over to help carry me through it. Peeta. I'm doing this for Peeta.

The next time I hear my name spoken it is Peeta saying it, not my mother.

"Katniss" his voice says firmly and I open my eyes again to look at him. "I am right here" he assures me. "You can do this, we both know that you can. Just like we both know I'm not leaving you until this is through. We're in this together." Then a frown appears on his face and his eyes trail quickly over my body. "Sit up, Katniss."

Sit up? What on earth is he talking about? This is no time for gymnastics.

"Don't disturb her" Mother scolds him but he has that look on his face that tells me he's not going to give up so easily.

"Katniss  _sit up_ " he instructs, turning to look at my mother. "It's harder for her this way." The eyes are back on me. "Let gravity help do the work for you."

I'm too busy screaming in pain again to care what he is saying but when the pain leaves me for another precious moment he grabs me by the hands and forces me up to a sitting position before I even know what's going on. He then disappears from view and the next thing I know he has climbed up in the bed behind me, preventing me from lying back down. When I lean back I'm still in a sitting position, leaned against his chest with his arms wrapping around mine and landing on my wrists.

"I am right here" he says in my ear. "Every step of the way; every second it takes. Now push. Push  _down_. It will help you."

The comfort of his presence, much more tangible now than only moments ago, gives me newfound strength. I am doing this  _for_  him and I am doing this  _with_  him. We're together in this, like we are in everything else. Like we always have been. This is no different than those days in the cave or in the Quarter Quell or those hours on the Cornucopia. We pull each other through because that is what Peeta and I do. Protect each other, help each other.

With his strong, familiar chest to lean back against and his arms wrapped with mine I find the strength to face the next wave of pain. I close my mouth shut, so tight my lips hurt, and when I'm no longer wasting energy screaming I can feel the baby progressing further as I push with all my might.

"Peeta" I grunt. "I'm splitting in two."

"No you're not" he says in my ear in a surprisingly calm tone. His hands run up and down my arms before settling by my wrists. "Deep breath now and push."

All that exists in the world at that time is the pain, the heavy, devastating feel of something far too big trying to pass through far too small a passage and Peeta's hold of me. It goes on forever, waves of pain hitting me over and over with only a brief respite between each one, the baby moving unimaginably slowly on its way out. At the back of my mind I wonder if the flash of an even sharper pain that I suddenly feel is my body tearing apart or if it's the baby passing the final stage between me and the world outside. Far off in the distance I can hear my mother saying something about 'head' and 'crowning' but I just want to yell at her to shut up and stop bothering me. This is even harder to do if her voice is going to keep nagging at me.

Then suddenly, almost out of nowhere, it's over. The pain is gone, the baby out. My eyes shoot open and it takes a moment to find focus. Peeta's cheek is pressed to mine as he's cradling me from behind and I cast a quick glimpse in his direction before looking at the tiny person in my mother's hands.

It's a girl. Contrary to how she felt coming out she looks tiny, which is the only thing that registers before panic hits me. She's not crying.

Mother calmly prods in the baby's mouth for half a second and then the most indignant little cries start coming from the little girl and I go completely limp, relaxing for the first time in I don't know how long. The shock of having been in such devastating pain and now barely feeling any pain at all, blending with the notion that the infant in my mother's hands came out of me, didn't even exist until Peeta and I created her, makes my mind a hazy mess. My eyes study her intently and I hate to admit it but she's pretty gross. Reddish-purple, covered in blood and something that looks like white grease, wrinkly as a ninety year-old, head slightly cone-shaped and nose bent to the side. But she's alive. A living being that exists because of Peeta and me, because of how we feel about each other, and who could have never been created by anybody but us. She's alive and she's ours. Nothing else matters except for that.

"Strong and healthy" my mother says proudly. "A beautiful little baby girl." There's a sentimental touch in her voice as she continues. "My daughter has a daughter."

Mother places her on my belly and I reach out with my hand, touching her ever so carefully as if I think she will break under my touch. We have been touching every moment of her existence up until the moment of her birth but this is the first time my fingers have felt her skin. She cries furiously, no doubt in shock over having had to leave a warm, dark, tight and safe place and come out into a cold room with a bright light and far wider spaces than she ever could imagine. Her voice is strong and healthy.

"It's okay..." I whisper to her, touching her so very gently. I want to comfort her every time she cries, every time she's sad or angry or disappointed. I want to take care of her and protect her.

I can feel Peeta's arms holding me tight and his cheek against my own. I'm barely aware that his skin is wet and I have scarcely begun to realize that the little screaming girl is really there before Mother takes her away again. I make an objecting noise but nobody seems to be paying any attention to me. Peeta makes me sit up more straight so he can get away from his place behind my back and I watch him hurry over to take a closer look at his long awaited child. Moments later the umbilical cord has been cut and with that she is no longer physically attached to me which already feels like an aching loss.

By the time the whole birth process is over Peeta has cleaned his daughter with a loving hand. He wraps her in the softest blanket we have and brings her to where I now lay fairly comfortably propped up against a couple of pillows. I feel like I've been run over by a train, a dull ache in my nether regions that turns into sharp stabs of pain if I move in the wrong way, but none of that matters when my daughter comes into my line of sight again, safely cradled in her father's arms. It's not until now that I realize that the wetness I felt against my cheek earlier were his tears of joy and I'm vaguely aware that I have shed a few of my own. Carefully he lifts his left knee up on the bed and leans in closer to me.

"You did great, Katniss" he tells me. "Now say a proper hello to our little girl." He laughs a little. "I can't believe she's finally here."

Ever so carefully he hands her over to me and for the first time I hold her in my arms. She's whimpering but doesn't seem to be in any discomfort. All that is sticking out from underneath the blanket is her head and a teeny, tiny hand that fascinates me in its perfection. Five little fingers, each with an incredibly tiny finger nail. I study her face and the dark curls on her head. She's too little, too new-born for me to be able to tell whether she looks like Peeta or me or both but I can't remember ever seeing a lovelier child. She's cleaner now but still red and wrinkly with a bit of a cone head yet she's the most beautiful thing I ever saw. The joy I feel now that she's in my arms is even stronger than the fear I've felt every day for nine long months since her conception and I'm overcome with a love so strong it doesn't seem real. It's not like the passion and desire and need I feel for Peeta. It's a different kind of love, one I haven't felt since...

"Prim" I say.

"Yeah" says Peeta, settling in next to me on the bed, one arm draped protectively over my shoulders and his other hand caressing his baby's cheek. "That's what I figured you would say. Is that what you want to call her?"

I tear my eyes away from my daughter and look at her father. He gives me a look of such total adoration and happiness that every moment of pain during her birth was worth it. My eyes then turn to Mother who looks deeply touched by both the sight of her granddaughter and the mention of the daughter she had to bury. Then my eyes return to my own little daughter.

"No" I say. "No, I don't want to name her after Prim. She should have a name that's entirely her own. There's only one Prim in my life and she's gone. This little girl here, her name should be something else." I swallow down a lump in my throat. "Something that... Something that has nothing to do with the Games."

"You can figure out what to name her later" says Mother reassuringly. "Rest now, Katniss. She is beautiful and strong. You should be proud."

"I know I am" says Peeta lovingly.

I turn my head and kiss him. I wonder if he knows that this was all for him. As with everything else that's beautiful and positive in my life this is all because of him. We both turn our eyes back to our daughter and I realize she's searching for something with her tiny little mouth.

"Can I nurse her?" I ask, looking up at Mother.

"Go ahead, see if she'll latch on."

A touch clumsily I pull down my sweaty tank top to expose my left breast. The baby seems to turn her head on instinct, sniffing for the nipple. I bring it to her lips and it takes a moment but then she takes it in her mouth and after a few moments begins to suck greedily. Unlike when her father does it, it hurts, but I don't mind. I will endure any pain for this little life in my arms.

Mother walks up and leans over. I've moved too far in on the bed for her to reach me but she runs a hand through Peeta's hair and smiles lovingly at her granddaughter.

"I'll leave the three of you to get acquainted" she says.

I tear my eyes from my daughter to look at my mother.

"Thank you" I say. "For helping me."

"You did all the hard work" Mother smiles.

She leaves and we are alone, the three of us. My husband, my daughter and myself. A real family at last. Now that our child is here it feels like I've longed for her all my life without even knowing it. I'm still terribly afraid of anything bad happening to her but for the first time I feel that it's worth the risk and worth the worry. There is so much peace and tranquillity now, a stark contrast to the agony of only a few short moments ago. Now that she's finally here I can relax.

"Look at her" says Peeta. "Can you believe how tiny she is?"

"Can you believe how greedy she is?" I reply with a smile. "This is the appetite of someone who's never known starvation."

Peeta laughs.

"She's fifteen minutes old."

"She never  _will_  know starvation" I say. "She's going to grow up on her father's cheese buns and her mother's game and all the best fruits imported from other districts. She will never have stale bread or soup cooked from the marrow of bones for dinner. Never go to bed hungry, ever."

"She's going to be chubby" says Peeta in a baby voice and carefully rubs his little finger over the back of our daughter's hand.

"She's going to be perfect."

"She's going to be her mother's daughter" replies Peeta and kisses my head.

"No" I tell him. "I want her to be like you. Bright and happy and full of love. Everyone who meets you loves you and you make friends so easily. I want the same for her."

"I believe you're very much biased on those accounts, Mrs. Mellark" smiles Peeta. "Perhaps she won't be like either one of us. She's her very own, after all."

I fail to see how she can be unlike both of us at the same time. Peeta is in most ways my polar opposite so it seems she would have to be like either one of us in some regard.

Her tiny mouth leaves my nipple, a droplet of milk seeping out and landing at the corner of her mouth. Peeta's finger gently wipes it off and the baby seems to think his finger is another nipple and wraps her little lips around it. I look up at my husband and see the radiant smile on his face.

"You were worth waiting for, little darling" he tells her. "I waited for your mother for twelve years and then about as long for you and you are both worth it. And just like with your mother it only took an instant in your company to know I was a goner. We love you so much already."

The baby begins to fuss when she realizes she's not getting any food from the finger in her mouth. Peeta pulls it back and helps her find my breast again. Our daughter closes her eyes and seems to sigh contently, eating only a little but keeping my nipple in her mouth as if it's a comfort to cling to. The thought that it might be so makes me proud and happy.

"Poor little thing" I say. "She's exhausted."

"Both my ladies had a long day" answers Peeta. "Look at her hair, Katniss. It's a little curly like mine but it's dark like yours."

"Mother says most babies are born with dark hair, if they have hair at all. And blue eyes. Then they can become blonde and brown-eyed later on, or whatever other colour they're meant to be."

"She could keep these colours, too. Your dark hair, my blue eyes."

I imagine a girl of maybe five or six fitting that description and my smile widens even further. My hair, Peeta's eyes. Or the exact opposite, a girl with my eyes and his hair. A combination of us both. Right now it's too early to tell who she really looks like but it won't be long before her features will become more defined and I feel I can't wait. What could be better than sharing this little girl with Peeta and seeing both myself and him every time I look at her? With myself and Prim it was never much of a combination between our parents. I take after Father, Prim took after Mother. I hope our daughter will be equal parts Peeta and myself but I can't say that I would mind if she grew to be a physical resemblance of her father.

"I think this is the happiest I have ever been" whispers Peeta in my ear as our baby's mouth lets go of my breast and she seems to fall asleep. "I can never thank you enough. You've made all of my dreams come true."

I want to reply to him but the words catch in my throat as I feel myself welling up with emotion. I've been happy over the years, even overwhelmingly so on a few occasions, but I have never felt the kind of joy I feel in this moment. I turn my head to Peeta and give him a loving kiss, relying once more on being able to show him how I feel than having to tell him in words.

 

 

"That is the stupidest name I have ever heard" says Haymitch, giving us a look like he can't believe what morons we are. "Coming from someone who's met more than his share of District 1 citizens that is saying something."

"If stupid names are out of the question then that rules out Haymitch for any future sons" says Peeta cheerfully, seemingly unbothered by our old mentor's words while I'm having to restrain myself from jumping at him.

With an eyebrow raised Haymitch squints and studies the baby girl in Peeta's arms closer. Her big baby eyes look back at him but don't seem to register the sight as anything special. I cackle proudly on the inside. Already she is showing promise.

"She's not the prettiest kid ever, is she?" Haymitch comments.

"Watch it" I more or less hiss at him.

"Be nice, Haymitch" says Peeta. "You're the closest thing to a grandfather she will ever have. You should act accordingly."

That actually seems to put Haymitch in a good mood. He leans back in his chair and lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"I suppose you're right" he then says. "But if you two numb-skulls expect to come running to old Uncle Haymitch for some parent-mentoring you're barking up the wrong tree." He turns to the baby and directs his next words to her in a tone like he's already doling out the life lessons. "Your parents never were able do much on their own without running to me for guidance."

"We managed to make  _her_  without your guidance" I reply.

"Yeah" cackles Haymitch. "Took you fifteen years to figure out how to do it, though." He rises from his chair and gives Peeta a pat on the shoulder. "Good for you, boy. Finally figured it out, did you?" He heads for the door but stops at the threshold and drops the jesting attitude. "You did good" he tells us in sincerity. As he's walking out we can hear his mutters. "Hope Mellark... Utterly ridiculous."

I turn to Peeta with a deep frown on my face, tolerating absolutely no negative words about my child.

"If you hold him I will hit him" I suggest.

Peeta laughs and leans over to coo the baby.

"You know Haymitch. He's happy for us, he just can't express it like a normally functioning adult. By the end of the month he'll be doting upon this little lady most of his waking hours." He rubs his nose against Hope's. "Yes he will."

"He'd better sober up first" I say, wrinkling my nose with disapproval. "Hope does not need to have her first intoxication before she's even smiled for the first time."

"No arguments there" Peeta smiles, rubbing his nose gently against the baby's.

I watch him fawn over his little baby girl and my heart fills with so much warmth it almost makes up for all the worry. Peeta was meant for this. He's always had so much love to give and even though I've greedily taken all that I possibly can he still has plenty left over for our daughter.

"She's really lucky, you know" I say.

Peeta looks up at me.

"I know" he says.

"You for a father. Even Haymitch for a grandfather... or uncle."

"You for a mother."

"I don't know if that makes her  _lucky_ " I answer.

"It makes her the luckiest little girl in the world. And me the luckiest man in the world, to be your husband and her father."

With one of his fingers he gently caresses Hope's cheek. He's been baking earlier in the morning and there's still a bit of cinnamon on his fingers which makes her sneeze, an action that in itself seems to surprise her. Wide smiles spread across both Peeta's and my face.

"Nothing and no one will ever be able to harm this little girl" says Peeta. "Her mother will protect her no matter what. She will grow up knowing beyond all doubt that there is nobody in Panem who loves as fiercely and dares as much for those she loves as her mother. Feat itself is going to be an alien concept to her."

I shake my head slightly.

"I think you've inhaled the scent of baby too much" I tell him. "If she's going to learn about love from anyone it's going to be you. You're the one who's light and love and hope."

"You're turning us both into great big saps" Peeta tells our daughter.

"Don't blame it on her" I scoff teasingly. "You were  _born_  a great big sap."

"Perhaps" Peeta laughs good-naturedly. His smile becomes a touch melancholy. "I wish my parents and brothers could have seen her. My parents would both have been so happy. I think they always wanted a daughter but got stuck with three unruly boys. Scotti was one thing, as he was the first. By the time I came along I was just another boy in the litter and my mother probably felt I let her down from the first moment I came into the world."

"Don't talk like that" I frown.

"Our daughter is perfect" says Peeta. "Wouldn't have mattered to me though if she had been a boy."

"No" I agree with a smile. "Boy or girl, either kind would have been just as welcome."

But when I see my husband smiling at our daughter I wonder if there could be any sight in the world more endearing than that of an adoring father and his baby daughter.

 

 

I wake up feeling peaceful and somewhat rested. It's a few weeks after Hope's birth, February has turned to March and we have slowly begun to adjust to parenthood. The early morning sunlight shines in through the window next to the bed and everything is calm and quiet. I turn my head the other way, thinking to myself that I can wake Peeta and enjoy the tranquillity with him for a moment but Peeta is not there. Then I realize that it's a little  _too_  quiet. With a gasp of panic I sit up in bed and scope the room. Immediately I spot them, my family, over at the other end of the room. Peeta is walking slowly around, gently rocking our daughter who seems to be asleep. My heart begins to slow to a normal pace and the panic settles. They are safe. Nothing bad has happened.

Peeta turns and sees that I am awake. He gives me one of his loveliest smiles and then smiles down at the baby.

"Mother is awake" he whispers to her. "You, on the other hand, are drifting off. Back to bed for both of us, little one."

He walks over to the crib and gently lays the child down, making sure she is lying comfortably on her back and that she's neither too warm nor too cold. Then he walks over to me and I pull the comforter aside to welcome him back to bed. He gets up next to me and we lie down. As if on reflex we both turn on our sides facing one another and he scoots much closer. Neither of us speaks at first. We just smile at each other. How long it has been since we last lay like this, so close that our legs are intertwined and our arms, our chests, our bellies touch. I've missed this like crazy and I think he has too.

"She woke up half an hour ago" he says softly. "I was already awake so I heard her. She wasn't crying, just fidgeting. I changed her nappy and lulled her back to sleep."

He looks tired but happy. Neither one of us has gotten much sleep in a while but we don't mind. We haven't gotten much quality time together either and that we do mind. Now we spend almost five minutes gazing into each other's eyes in silence, having no need to say anything, just enjoying each other's closeness.

"Do you regret it?" he then asks. "Having her, I mean."

"No" I tell him. "Not at all. I'm as scared now as I ever have been but now that she's here I wouldn't have it any other way. She's our baby. I love her."

His smile grows even warmer.

"I think she has your hair" he says fondly. "I don't think it will turn out blonde when she's older."

"It's too early to tell" I reply. "I can't wait until she's older and we can begin to tell who she looks like. Who she  _acts_  like. She's... you and me. Us. Together. It's odd to think that when she's just a little bit older than she is now we might be able to look at her and see us both at the same time."

"We always did work well together."

"I hope she's like you" I say with a content sigh. "That she has your heart, your kindness... I would like for her to be that way."

"I hope she has your strength" says Peeta. "Just one ounce of it and she'll have enough to carry her through no matter what happens."

"You've got that all wrong" I say, shaking my head. "My strength is all in you. You've carried me through, every time."

"We've carried each other" he answers. "But don't try to credit me with what is all you. You were stronger than anyone I've ever known long before you and I became a team."

It's not the first time we've had this kind of conversation since Hope was born and it probably won't be the last. It's as if the proximity to a cute, cuddly baby has made us both sentimental. I nudge a little closer to my husband and give him a light kiss. He smiles and his eyes begin to drift shut.

"You need sleep" I say.

"We both do" he yawns.

"I'll take her the next time she wakes up."

"Mmm..." mumbles Peeta.

I nuzzle closer, close my eyes and drift to sleep. I get almost two full hours before the baby in the crib wakes up and screams for food.

 

 

 

The joyous high I've been on since the birth of my daughter suddenly seems to vanish one day, out of the blue. I wake up feeling like the weight of the world is on me, heavily pressing on my chest and making it difficult to move or even breathe. I know the feeling well, having been overcome with depression enough times in my life to know it the instant it appears. I just can't understand why it's happening now, when life should be at its very best.

Peeta is not in bed with me. He must be downstairs in the kitchen. I close my eyes hard and hope that he has the baby with him. After about ten minutes a wail from the crib informs me otherwise and I come close to wailing along with my baby. I don't want to deal with this right now. I can barely take care of myself when I'm this depressed, let alone a baby. I close my eyes harder and hope that she will stop screaming or that Peeta will come upstairs and take her. Anything but me having to get out of bed and go pick her up. I don't have the strength for that.

After a few minutes the sounds of her crying becomes unbearable to listen to. I realize Peeta might not even be at home; he could be over at Haymitch's with breakfast. Summoning every ounce of strength I can muster I slowly lift the comforter off my tired body and sit up. I walk over to the crib and look down at Hope, furiously angry in her bed. I reach down and pick her up, faintly hoping that holding my baby girl will make me feel better.

"Easy now" I tell her tiredly and position her against my left shoulder. "There, there."

I don't feel better holding her. Maybe if she wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs but as it is she's just annoying me. I walk back and forth with her for a few minutes after checking her diaper to see if it needs changing. I take a seat on the rocking chair Peeta brought up for me to nurse in and expose my breast to the child. She takes it and begins to eat with the same appetite she's displayed since birth. I relax a little now that she's quiet but I don't feel much better.

"I'm hungry too" I complain to my daughter. "Where is your father? The least he could do is bring me breakfast."

I can hear how irrational that sounds. I sigh heavily and try to think of a reason why I might be feeling this way today. I've been so happy over my daughter since she came into the world. Shouldn't that feeling last a little longer? Shouldn't I be able to just enjoy her for a while and make the most of every minute with her?

As I watch her nurse I at least feel the same gratitude I always feel when she's eating. She doesn't have to go hungry. She can always fill her little stomach. I've been drawing a lot of strength, self-appreciation and contentment from knowing that I am the person giving food to her. She literally feeds herself through me. In my own body I have everything I need to keep the hunger away from Hope.

This morning that thought comes with an odd rush of melancholy and flashes of memories I haven't thought of for years now. Yes, I am able to feed Hope with my milk but mothers are not always able to do that. Many times before the war I saw desperate mothers coming to our door, wanting my mother's help because they were no longer able to nurse their babies. Starvation meant that they couldn't eat enough to produce sufficient amounts of milk for their infants. Tears begin to fall down my face as I imagine what they must have felt like. Hope always has milk when she wants it and she never has to let go of my breast for any other reason than that her tiny stomach is full. I can't fathom putting her to my breast and knowing there might not be enough in it, having to see my child let go of the breast because it's empty, crying for more food that I can't provide. I can't think of any worse feeling right now. I remember those mothers and how many of them gave their older children less to eat even though they were starving too because the mother needed to feed herself in order to feed her baby. Taking food from one child to give to another must completely break your heart. Especially when you have to eat that food yourself in order for the infant to be able to get it, essentially stealing your older children's dinner.

Hope pulls her little face away from my breast with a displeased look and I realize I'm sobbing and it's making my chest shake which makes it difficult for her to eat. I place my hand at the back of her little head and hold my breath, trying to compose myself as I give her the nipple again. She takes it and continues to eat but I can't stop myself from sobbing and she pulls away again, like I'm failing her, which makes me cry harder.

"Katniss?"

I hear Peeta's concerned voice from somewhere around the direction of the doorway but I'm too worked up to answer him. I try to press my baby's face back to my breast but she protests in a wail and that makes me feel even guiltier. The next thing I know Peeta is kneeling in front of me and his worried eyes dart between me and Hope.

"Katniss what's wrong? What happened?"

When I can't answer him he reaches in to take Hope but I give him an angry shove that nearly makes him lose his balance. I press my baby closer to myself, determined that she never leave my breast without feeling completely full. In the back of my mind I realize that she's probably not going to want to nurse more right now given how she's crying and protesting but I'm sure that I will fail as a mother in every way if I can't even feed her properly.

"It's alright, Katniss" says Peeta.

"No" I blubber, shaking my head.

"She's done nursing. She needs her diaper changed. You're tired, I'll take her. I'll bring her right back, okay?"

I want to protest and tell him that I checked her diaper before I sat down to nurse but instead I latch on to the excuse he offers me and allow him to take the baby from my arms. He gently shushes her, so skilfully that you might think he's never done anything else in his life but soothe crying babies. Not that he doesn't have years and years of practice calming down hysterical women.

When he disappears into the bathroom with Hope I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, crying hysterically for a few minutes. It plagues me to have to feel this way at such a time in my life. Why can't I ever seem to get to be happy for more than a few days or possibly weeks at a time? Then I take a deep breath and somehow I'm able to pull myself together, as if the wave of sadness that crashed over me has rolled back.

Peeta comes back out with the baby now quiet in his arms. He looks at Hope, then glances up at me, then back at the baby.

"What happened?" he asks.

I shrug. I don't know what to say, or even if there is anything to say. I rise from the rocking chair and walk over to him.

"I want my daughter back."

"Here you go" says Peeta gently and hands her over to me.

"I don't know what came over me" I say, feeling better now. The weight of Hope in my arms is comforting and her alert eyes looking up at me soften the guilt I felt moments ago over not being able to feed her properly. She doesn't seem hungry right now.

"Come with me downstairs" suggests Peeta. "I'll make you breakfast."

I nod and follow him out of the room and down the stairs. I barely take my eyes off of Hope, just a glance here and there to watch where I'm going. She seems perfectly happy at the moment and I can only attribute that to her father's soothing touch. I'm more than a little grateful that Peeta will be with me every step of the way to raise her and give her a good home. On my own I would never be able to do it.

Down in the kitchen Peeta makes me French toast. He sets the plate down in front of me, leans down and kisses my brow and then Hope's.

"My beautiful girls" he says affectionately.

He gives me a soft kiss on the lips and then takes the baby so that I can eat. He sits down opposite me and with both husband and daughter in my line of sight I can relax a little and enjoy my breakfast.

 

 

 

Predictably the depression comes back. No matter how happy I am about my daughter I can still burst out crying almost out of nowhere and several mornings I wake up with the feeling that I might not be able to get out of bed at all. Peeta notices, of course, and does everything he can to make it easier on me. The problem is I don't know what would make it easier. One minute I don't want to let Hope out of my sight and the next I wish I didn't have to see her and hear her at all. In many ways Peeta is both father and mother to her for a period of about a month and a half. Eventually one day he grabs the cordless phone, dials Annie Odair's number and explains the situation to her in as few words as possible. He then hands me the phone, orders me to talk and then heads out the door to drag Haymitch with him on a walk to town. He brings Hope with him so Annie and I can talk undisturbed.

At first I have nothing to say, feeling like I'm drowning in guilt over becoming depressed so shortly after my baby's birth. Annie, barely lucid on her best of days, talks a bunch of jumbled stuff that makes no real sense to me until she seems to remember what Peeta told her a few minutes ago. Then she focuses and tells me that she felt depressed after Crest's birth and that she felt like she was betraying Finnick because she couldn't just be happy over his son. I still don't say anything but now I'm listening with bated breath. The more she talks the more I recognize my own situation in hers. It could be that we're both screwed up, horrible people but at least there's two of us and not just me. And at least I have Peeta while she didn't have Finnick.

Eventually I join in the conversation. We talk for almost an hour and when we hang up I feel better. I'm not foolish enough to believe that I won't feel depressed again soon or burst out crying five times in a week but at least now I know that I have Annie to talk to if I need it and that she understands perfectly. It's strange that when she talks about the way she felt I don't think she's a terrible mother or a horrible person. I'm much harder on myself than I am on the people I care about.

I get out of bed and take a long, hot shower. I dry my hair just a little and braid it while it's still moist. Then I put some decent clothes on and make the bed. When I'm done I pull the rocking chair over to the window and keep a lookout for when my family will return, while I rock myself back and forth. Right now I long for Peeta the most. Talking to Annie Odair often has that effect on me because it never fails to remind me how she's lost what I could never survive losing.

After half an hour they come into view. Haymitch with a bag containing what I assume is white liquor. Peeta pushing the stroller with a satchel thrown over his shoulder. I vaguely remember him saying we needed some supplies but I don't recall what those supplies were. Again I think of how lucky Hope is that she has a level-headed father to keep track of things when her basket case of a mother has one of her meltdowns.

I push the chair back and hurry down the stairs. I can hear Peeta talking to Haymitch outside and then I see through the window how Haymitch walks towards his own house. The next moment the front door opens and Peeta comes inside, pushing the stroller into the front hall. I don't wait for him to take off his coat or even close the door. I walk around the stroller, wrap my arms around him and kiss him deeply, clinging to him as if I need to assure myself that he's truly there.

"I'm glad you're home" I tell him.

"Well I'm certainly glad to  _be_  home" he replies, looking a little surprised at my welcoming.

"Do I ever tell you how great you are?" I ask, giving him another kiss. He wiggles out of my grip long enough to reach back and pull the door close. "Peeta do I tell you enough how grateful I am to you for everything you do?" I kiss him again. "Am I ever able to make you understand, to show you how much you mean to me?"

He looks down at the baby girl sleeping soundly in the stroller.

"I think I have the proof of that in my line of sight."

A warm smile spreads across my face. Of course he understands. Trust Peeta to know that I got pregnant out of no other motivation than love for him, even though I've never told him so. I pull him closer and feel him wrap his arms around me. He's happy. He has the child he's wanted so badly. I have taken a few steps towards making it all up to him. As always, Peeta has brought me hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the sappy ending =) The idea of mushy Katniss entertains me somehow.  
> Thanks for reading!


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